


When the Porcelain Meets the Wood

by FireAnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Harry, Alpha Liam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Beta Niall, Beta Zayn, Bottom Louis, But not sexual abuse, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Lust, M/M, Mutual Pining, Omega Louis, Pining, Romace, Rut, Strong Laungues, Top Harry, heat - Freeform, mating cycle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22365670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireAnt/pseuds/FireAnt
Summary: Cakes. Harry has impeccable taste in cakes. He also has impeccable taste in Male Omega’s who have strong, vicious, Alpha boyfriends.Or the one where Liam is just as unreliable and abusive as Harry had feared so Louis let's him make up for the slack.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 118





	1. January: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't posted in years. Go easy on me. This is my dream work, the fanfiction I've been writing for years. I want to get it right, so I can't promise that the chapters will come consistently. But if I don't start, I'll never finish. And I promise, it'll be worth the wait.

January 12th

“Fuck,” Harry swears under his breath, pausing anxiously for a moment after, hopeful that his mother hadn’t caught it. He might be a 23-year-old man but cursing in front of one’s mother is an act of delinquent impropriety in the eyes of Anne Styles. If she had heard his vile words, he’d be in for nothing short of an earful from her about respect and the importance of proper language. A parental rant he’s been the victim of countless times before. Luckily for him, she hadn’t heard, her one-sided conversation still droning on through the phone Harry has clutched between his shoulder and his cheek. 

He’s trying to get inside. That’s all, and as simple as it sounds, it’s quickly becoming a desperate challenge he’s afraid he’ll lose. It’s already taken longer than necessary, past the point of it being comical. The evening, January air has started chilling his skin, despite the Alpha warmth that radiates from his body. He curses his past self for thinking it would be a good idea to carry all his luggage in at once. Now he’s stuck with one arm, only free from his elbow down, the rest of him tangled up in carrying his various bags and traveling items, trying to balance the pillow that’s being kept safe under his arm while attempting to get his house key into the lock on the front door. All the while, his mum seeming to never take a breath. 

“It just has to be right; you know?” she huffs out and Harry knows just by her voice that she’s pacing. Probably walking back and forth in the kitchen, no doubt with a cookie in her hand.

“I know,” He says, so flat and dull, just enough forced color in it to pass it off as a genuine response of interest. 

He tuned her out a while ago, in no effort to be rude, he’s just got more pressing matters that need his full attention. Like getting into his house without freezing or without dropping any of his possessions into the large puddle that’s formed on the cements stoop under his feet, a small insect lagoon right in front of the door. Its existence more than likely caused by the icicles starting to melt on the small overhang above him. 

If it were under any other circumstances, he’d feel awful for it. Tuning his mother out, especially while she’s mid rant, isn’t exactly loving son behavior. And Harry isn’t much if he isn’t a loving son. He’s heard all this before though. Every differing subject to her rant is only new to this day. Everything she’s brought up on their now almost thirty-minute phone call has been ranted over a dozen times in the last six weeks. It’s wedding talk. Dresses and cake and colors and flowers. The lot. And it might sound a little rude to say, but he’s honestly sick of hearing about it. 

It’s not that he isn’t excited. His mum and sister both getting married withing the year? Brilliant. They’ve both found wonderful Alpha mates to spend the rest of their lives with, to protect them and take care of them and make sure they’re provided for. The idea of their marriage isn’t what’s got Harry regretting that he answered his mums persistent calling only hours after he had left her house in Manchester. That part is actually a relief. For the first time since he was three, Harry isn’t going to be the only Alpha in the family. Since his dad left, he’s been the caretaker of the house. Watching out for Gemma, supporting his mum emotionally and eventually, financially. It was a lot of responsibility for him, especially as he got older. But, with the new addition of two, very capable, very well brought up Alphas, maybe now he’ll finally be able to leave his mums without the sickly feeling of worry, thoughts in the back of his mind that he needs to stay behind to make sure their safe. 

It's the Alpha in him. Worrying about those closest to him is more than second nature, it’s an embedded desire, literally carved into his DNA, and there are only a short few that are closer to him that his mum and sister. He feels sick with it sometimes, his belly so full of the urge to fix and protect and coddle. It’s like an anxiety, a wave of panic and nausea at the idea that he isn’t around to make sure his loved ones are looked after, a crippling fear that something might happen to them while he’s away. 

Hopefully, now some of that anxiety will dull with the addition of Robin and Markus. 

It might be a little selfish, why he’s bothered so much. It’s just, that’s all it’s been. Wedding talk. Six weeks. That’s all he gets for his winter break. Six weeks to come home a rest and visit with his family and celebrate the holidays. It’s usually a nice break away from uni. He gets to reconnect with his mum and sister, spend some much-needed quality time with them. They eat lots of food and exchange gifts and have game nights with his cousins, and every year, they go up north to visit his nan. 

The best part about it is, for six weeks, there’s nothing to worry about. No homework or projects or deadlines. No pressing responsibilities. It’s just him, his family and all the free time and relaxation he could ask for.

But with all the planning and date setting and dress looking and cake tasting, there was almost no relaxation to be had. Harry’s mum had been in a panic almost the entire time. Nonstop, talking about china patterns and napkin designs and chair placements. And Gemma had been the exact same way. The both of them running around like headless chickens, trying to get every single detail in order all at once. 

To make it all worse, his input was needed on every decision. He appreciates that they wanted to include him, but his presents and advice needed on every minor detail became so overwhelming that by week three, he was camping out in his childhood bedroom, faking sick just to gain a moment of peace. Harry isn’t ignorant to the importance and value of a wedding, but Jesus Christ, with the last month he’s had with trying to survive in a house with two stressed out and anxious brides, he’ll be lucky if he ever recovers from this enough to desire a wedding of his own. 

Triumph wells through is chest when his key finally sinks into the lock. It took so much longer than necessary, the fight he and the lock were having causing the Alpha ingrained in him to rile up, fill every muscle in his body with the urge to beat the wooden door down with his fists. 

Completely temperamental, that Alpha hormone that rages inside him. Always whispering in the back of his mind obscene and outrageous thoughts and desires. Every Alpha has it, that weird inner voice, the one that aches to be the most powerful, the leader, the one in charge. The overwhelming instinct to give into every whim of that little voice in the back of their head. Take everything they want, when they want. Harry’s mum did an exceptional job of raising him not to indulge it. Being an Omega, she raised Harry to be the kind of Alpha she would have wanted. One that was kind, strong for the right reasons, harsh only when needed. One that used their Alpha authority for the better, used their influence only to help. She taught him that being an Alpha isn’t supposed to be about overpowering people, taking control simply because you can. It’s about being a respectful leader, a protector, for those who aren’t as strong. 

He controls his urges pretty well. Much better than most of the Alpha’s he knows. Still, that testosterone fueled beast inside him rages when Harry goes to push the door open, the pillow under his arm falling free, right into the water pooling around his feet. 

This time when he swears, it’s too much to ask for his mum not to hear it. 

He abandons his luggage and now soaking wet pillow in the front room, choosing to wait until after he’s had his tea to drag it all to his bedroom.

“It’s just completely disrespectful!,” Anne lectures at him through the phone, her voice the sort of shrill that has the speaker of the phone going slightly fuzzy. “Honestly, and of all the words, you choose that one?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to make it sound convincing. Of course, he isn’t really. He’s an adult man who lives on his own, pays for his own bills, drives his own car. Saying ‘fuck’ without your mother trying to crawl down your throat should be one of the few adult delights Harry is gifted. 

Unfortunately for him, it isn’t. 

She banters on about it for another few minutes, long enough that the water in the kettle is boiling before she switches the subject back to her wedding. 

Harry does his best to listen, makes noises of agreement and fake interest as he pours some of the water into a mug on top of a tea bag. He misses the mug a bit, hot water dripping down and scalding his hand. He groans from the sudden pain, removing his hand from the cup to shake violently, trying to rid it of the scalding water. He surges with the desire to smack the mug off the counter, break it into a million pieces and let the water sit on the dirty linoleum of the floor until it’s cold.

He swallows it, forces the Alpha in him to settle with a slow, deep intake of breath. It does, but not fully, Harry is stuck with an underlying frustration he can’t seem to fully tame. But there’s tea to be made and a conversation to be half paid attention to, so rather than really dig into why it persists, he ignores it. 

He fixes the tea the way he likes it best, one scoop of sugar and enough milk to settle the steam. His mums moved on to cake flavors now and Harry is grateful for it. This is something he can actually have an opinion about. While veil cuts and lace designs don’t weigh very heavy in Harry’s mind, cake does. Cake is always in the running for his top ten most loved things, and wedding cake? Yeah. There aren’t a lot of things that triumph over wedding cake. 

“You have to go lemon,” He states confidently, shuffling his way back into the living room, blowing over the warm liquid in the mug he carries before taking a long gulp. The sugary liquid coats his tongue in the most satisfying way, coaxes him into taking another sip. 

“You think so? Rather than lavender?”

“Mum, no one wants a lavender flavored cake. It’ll be like eating washing liquid.” He laughs, relieved when his mother laughs as well rather than accusing him of having horrible taste in cakes. 

If there’s one thing Harry has impeccable taste in, it’s cakes. 

Harry sets his mug of tea down of the coffee table, turning to his pile of luggage he’s dumped on the floor. He figures he might as well start putting his things away. If his mum is going to go on about this for another hour, a feat she is entirely capable of, he might as well be productive.

When comes to stand toe to toe with his luggage, he paused, finding that all his bags are laying scattered around just as he had left them, but the pillow that he had dropped on the ground beside them is no where in sight. 

That’s…odd? He knows he carried the pillow inside, and he vividly remembers dropping it here with the rest of his things. He does a quick spin, checking to see if maybe he dropped the pillow further into the room, but he doesn’t see it anywhere on the floor. He shuffles back into the kitchen. Maybe he carried it in here without realizing it? 

Apparently not. He doesn’t find it in there either.

It’s too much to think about. He’s just driven all day from his mum’s house. He’s tired and his legs hurt from being cramped up in his truck all day. All he wants to do is lie down in his own bed for the first time in weeks. Get a night’s sleep the doesn’t end by him being woken up with questions about tie patters. Instead of searching his house for the pillow he knows he left by the door when he came in, he chooses to forget it and picks up the rest of his stuff, squishing his phone between his shoulder and cheek again, dragging his bags with him towards the bed room, his mum’s voice a persistent stream of chiffon stains in his ear.

When he gets there, he drops his stuff on the floor, hauling only his duffle bag full of clothes onto the bed. He licks his lips, his mouth dry and thirsty, and mentally kicks himself for leaving his tea all the way in the living room. He makes no move to retrieve it, just starts unzipping his bag, pulling out the clothes and sorting the clean ones from the dirty ones. He throws an old pair of sweats a little too far up the bed, missing his dirty clothes pile completely. He leans to retrieve them when something at the head of his bed catches his eye. 

His pillow, the one that he had dropped outside in the puddle, the same one he swore he brought inside but couldn’t find only seconds ago, is now sitting in its place on his mattress, leaving a wet patch on the sheet underneath it. He picks it up quickly, immediately piqued when he sees the amount of water that has already soaked into the mattress. The darkening ring washes a dark wave of annoyance down his spine.

He throws the pillow to the floor, leaving his bedroom all together. He marches back into the living room again, this time with the knowledge that he isn’t alone in his home. Harry is a lot of things, but very rarely is he forgetful. Something beaten into him related to Alpha responsibility refuses to allow him that personality trait. He knows he left that pillow by the door and even if he hadn’t, he would’ve never set a soaked through pillow on his bed to wet everything it touches. 

But he knows a few people who might. 

It’s one of his mates. That much is certain. Niall, Zayn and Louis are the only people on the planet Harry has ever interest with the responsibility that comes with owning a key to his house. Not even his mum and Gemma have their own copy.

It was a precautionary measure, one that Harry thought of two years when Louis had announced to them that he was going to spend winter break on campus rather than with his family back in Doncaster. No one could really blame him. From what Louis’ told him, spending six weeks on a dead campus with nothing to do is heaven compared to spending it with a completely dysfunctional and abusive family. 

While Harry couldn’t argue that he was going to be better off, the idea of his best friend being left by himself bothered Harry. It ate at him for days to the point that it was all he could think about. Mind racing with made up senecios in which all had Louis hurt or in danger in some way or another. And while most were completely impractical, just made up fears that Harry’s mind had brought to life, some were absolutely plausible. It’s not that he didn’t trust Louis to stay out of trouble, it’s that trouble seems to follow Louis around like he’s a magnet for it. He’s Omega. One of only five male Omega’s that have been documented in London. Attention follows him wherever he goes by nature, simply because of what he is and sometimes, that attention isn’t positive. 

While the times are changing, there are people that have a strict distain for male Omegas, finding their existence repulsive and demented. But on the flip side of that, there also those that are a little too positive about it, seeing Louis like a status symbol, a prize to be won, rather than a person.

Those people are traditionally Alpha’s. The breed are constantly in competition with each other, always wanting to be the strongest, the loudest, the most feared. Be the literal Alpha of the pack, whether it be by fair means or not. They’ll snatch up anything that will give them an advantage over the rest, anything they can get their hands on that will make them stand out, make them special. What more would do that than being an Alpha that has a one in a million male Omega as a mate? 

There was no way Harry was going to let Louis stay on campus by himself for six entire weeks. Fuck, he wouldn’t be okay with leaving Louis on campus alone for a full 24 hours! So, rather than let Louis stay in his dorm room on campus, he suggested that the Omega stay at his house over the break instead.

Getting Louis to accept the key was like pulling teeth. The small, golden skinned boy is so adamant about being self-sufficient. Overwhelmingly convinced that he doesn’t need to be fostered. That he isn’t as delicate as he is. He completely undermines the fact that he’s O, disregards how his biology has built him to be small and fragile and overall, a risk to leave alone. Harry knows he hates being seen like that. Hates the way society has painted him as something so defenseless. And he and Harry have gotten into so many fights over it because, while Harry agrees that, for the most part, Louis can take care of himself, he can’t agree with Louis’ idea that he isn’t breakable. Louis has it so stuck in his head that he’s just as big and tough as Alpha’s are. He’s got a mouth on him that begs to be challenged and an attitude to match and it’s gotten him into more trouble than he can pull himself out of on more than one occasion. And every single time, it’s been with an Alpha that doubles Louis in size and Harry will never, as long as he lives, say this out loud to him, mostly because he wants to avoid the argument it would bring, but Louis would never stand a chance up against an angry Alpha all on his own.

And it isn’t even just about him being small and weak and just overall, little. Secondary gender be damned! Louis draws attention despite being Omega. His thighs, his hips, his arse. His body is begging to be knotted and mated. And some Alphas don’t need an invitation.

It’s exactly that reason Harry all but begged him to stay here instead of his dorm room.

Eventually, Louis caved, but only after lots of tea and the promise of gifts when Harry returned home. 

Before he left, he made one up for Niall and Zayn as well. The pair of them almost never getting into as much trouble as Louis, the pair of them both Beta’s who know how to keep their heads down, but that way they’d all have a safe place to stay whenever they needed, whether Harry was home or not. 

At the time, those keys made Harry feel better. They gave him a sense of security, knowing that he had done something that would help keep his friends safe. Now? Now, he kind of regrets them.

Harry searches through the living room for any sign of one of his friends. While he doesn’t find a particular person, he does find evidence of who has broken into his house and set his soaking wet pillow on his fresh clean sheets.

There’s only one person that loves tea enough to steal Harry’s half empty, chilled to room temperature mug that has been sitting on the coffee table. 

“Hey mum,” he says into the phone, cutting his mother off midsentence to tell her that he would have to call her back and that he loves her. 

He pockets the phone, sauntering across the room with a smug look on his face. 

The anticipation alone is enough to set butterflies alive in his stomach. 

“I would’ve made you your own cup if you would’ve asked,” he says into the empty air with a smile, waiting for his intruder to appear with a lighting like excitement.

The chances of it working aren’t good. If Louis’ dead set on making Harry search this house up and down for him, he’ll be sure to make it happen. Louis is nothing if not stubborn and playing games is one of his most favorite things to do. Especially when their games that only he knows how to win. Harry chances it anyways, knowing that Louis must be just as exhausted from his ride back as Harry is, hopefully not in the mood for a game of hide and seek.

It proves right when Louis appears in the hallway. Harry’s heart almost melts the second he sees the smaller boy. It’s only been a month and a half, but Harry notices all the little things that have changed since the last time he saw his best friend. Louis’ hair is barely a centimeter longer but it’s falling just in his eyes in a way it didn’t before they left on break, long enough that Louis has to bring his hand up away from where it was clasping Harry’s mug to his chest in order to push the hair from his face. 

He’s lost a little weight, the sight of Louis’ small frame building a brick in Harry’s stomach, the urge to ask Louis if he’s hungry almost unswallowable. Harry convinces himself it’s what the boy is wearing, a pastel blue jumper that’s way too big on him. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if it used to be his or even Zayn’s. The thread bear, blue washed, fabric looking almost as soft as his fringe does. 

His trousers don’t help his cause, the pair of comfy looking grey trackies much too long for his short legs, the ends pooling on the ground around his small, socked feet. Harry would love to comment on it, tell him that he looks so precious like this, like he could fit in Harry’s pocket. Saying it would make Louis’ face puff out with rage, angry and red cheeked, and that only makes Harry want to say it more. 

Louis isn’t really that sensitive about his size. Small and absolutely curvy. If he tried to pass for anything but O, he’d be called out for lying before the words even passed his lips. He just doesn’t like being reminded of how tiny he is, because being small is a major characteristic of being Omega. While people can certainly smell the secondary gender on him as if he were a walking fruit stand, before they can scent him, they can see him. His height gives him away far before his smell does and for Louis, it’s just an addition to the list of things people use against him. 

Harry loves it. Maybe it’s the Alpha in him, but the contrast in their size is something born straight from fantasy for him. He’s just so small. So delicate. And while that terrifies Harry the majority of the time, it’s also so filthy when thought of in the right circumstances. He could haul Louis around as easy as nothing, has done it more times than he can count. He’s so pliable and easy to manipulate. Easy to maneuver into the perfect position. 

Louis brings him back when he moves that cup away from his chest, bringing the faded glassware up to his mouth for one long, slow, gulp. Harry’s eyes draw down to his throat, helpless to watch it work as Louis swallows down his tea. Harry’s tea. He tries to ignore that his lips were on that mug just minutes ago and that they are, in a weird way, inadvertently kissing. The trace remnants of Harry’s mouth now making their home inside Louis’. It’s primary school logic but it sets Harry’s skin ablaze all the same. 

“But then I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to put that wet pillow on your bed.” Louis says when he’s done with his drink, his tea flavored mouth forming into a wicked yet somehow, sincere smile. 

Harry aches to get closer. His body actually pained by how far apart they’re standing. The distance between them seems pointless and Harry would give all the money is his wallet to close it, but he has a feeling Louis is keeping his distance on purpose, his stance solid and unwavering in the doorway to the hall.

He’s trying to tease Harry a little and that’s so fucked and so cynical, Harry has never hated anything more in his life. He’s got to know Harry missed him. Fuck, Harry only told him about a hundred times a day. Louis knows what he wants, but, instead of granting him that small gift, Louis’ toying with him, playing a game, and Harry knows if he tries to shrink any of the space between them, Louis will take off running and won’t stop until Harry finally catches him with two arms wrapped like a vice around his waist. 

Closing the space has to be Louis’ idea. If it’s anything else, then Harry loses and it’s so like Louis to do this. Catch Harry up in a game he wasn’t even asked to play by the sweetest, most stubborn little Omega. Always has to do things his way, on his own accord. Too difficult to just outright give Harry what he wants which is simply to have Louis in his arms for the first time in over a month. Always has to make Harry work for it. 

For an Omega, Louis is very Alpha like. Loud, headstrong, and always in charge. Making everyone involved follow his every instruction with the promise of severe punishment if they don’t. It’s out of character for Omegas. Typically, they’re small. Shy and pliant. Submissive. Not Louis though. Harry has not once, in two years, seen Louis submit to anyone, he’s never been sweet and small for anyone. But Jesus, Harry would be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasied about it. Louis, all shy and speechless and clingy. Pink faced and breathless, letting Harry work him however he wanted. However Louis needed. Submissive, just for him. 

Harry smirks back, just as malicious. “I’m sure you would’ve figured out how to do it anyway. Doesn’t matter if I know you’re around or not.”

Louis’ smile turns soft with Harry’s words, fading into something less playful and more endeared. Bright and delicate. Sunshine. Harry finds it a little harder to breath. 

“Is that a complement?” Louis asks, and Jesus, Harry missed the sound of his voice. High pitched and breathy, even when he doesn’t mean it to be. “Are you saying I’m sneaky?”

Harry chuckles a little breathlessly. “Only you would consider being called sneaky a compliment.”

“But I am sneaky?” Louis raises an eyebrow, taking a step towards Harry. He must be playing the game right. Whatever the rules are to this made up charade, they mustn’t be too complicated. One statement taken as a flattery is enough to have Louis moving closer. It’s only one step, but Harry will take whatever he can get. 

He chances it, decides to shadow the movement, elated when Louis lets him get away with it. 

“Sneaky? Troublesome? An absolute pain in my arse?” Harry shrugs. “Take your pick.” 

Louis looks away from him then, and Harry hadn’t noticed that their eyes has been locked, caught in some kind of soul catching, fiery intense stare, until Louis breaks it. He stares off into space, hand coming up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Harry wants to be that hand, let himself glide over every inch of that honeyed skin. He bets it’s soft. Maybe as soft as it looks. Maybe even softer. 

“Is sneaky really the right word?” He asks Harry, his eyes staring Harry down with a look that could easily be taken for bedroom eyes, soft batting of eyelashes, hooded lids, looking up at Harry like he’s the most important person in the world and with that look, right now he feels like it. 

It’s in his head though, just like it always is. The look is nonsensical, never meaning what Harry thinks it might. 

That doesn’t stop him from feeding into it, from taking it and giving it right back. 

“Devious is closer. Cunning, even.”

Harry doesn’t know why but the words cause a faint blush to creep up Louis’ cheeks. A shy pink bleeding underneath slightly freckled skin and Harry’s mouth helplessly wets at the sight, his tongue curious to find out what that blush must taste like. 

“Are you alone? Or did you bring reinforcement?” He asks Louis, mostly just to give his mouth something to do that doesn’t involve copious amounts of drool. 

Louis’ face morphs with false offense, his mouth gaping and eyebrows going high. God, Harry thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Are you actually insinuating that I don’t have the skills to pull off a stunt like this on my own? I have to say, I’m deeply offended.” Louis scoffs with a tisk of his tongue, his tone laced with so much sass that Harry can practically taste it, sweet like strawberries, just like Louis.  
Harry crosses his arms across his chest. The change in stance broadens his chest and shoulders, makes him appear bigger. It’s an Alpha tactic, one that Harry isn’t entirely aware he’s pursuing until after he’s done it. But Louis’ eyes track the entirety of the motion, blue eyes flicking to his arms, his chest, and Harry finds himself questioning why he doesn’t do it more often. 

“Well, you did just soak my bed with a wet pillow. I can’t just let that go without some sort of revenge or compensation.”

“And is questioning my ability to be sneaky what you consider a good form of compensation?”  
“Not exactly.”

Louis looks up at Harry through eyelashes as thick as a forest. 

“What is then?”

Fuck. That’s a challenge and while Harry would really like to convince himself that Louis has some sort of idea of the effect his words have, Harry is almost one thousand percent sure that he doesn’t. There are too many things he could say to answer that, so many things Harry would be happy to accept in favor of the left side of his bed being wet. Almost all of them being activities he should absolutely not suggest out loud but that sit heavy in the front of his mouth anyway. Kissing you. Fucking you. Knotting you. All good sounding responses to Harry’s Alpha biology, but all responses he would be skinned alive for saying. Mostly because Louis must be entirely unaware of the possibilities his words carry. He has no idea where he pushes Harry’s mind to wonder. 

Harry wets his lips before responding. “I’d love to see you finish that cold cuppa. Then I want you to watch as I go into the kitchen, make myself a fresh one and drink it at my leisure without offering you any.” 

Louis squints at him from across the room, his blue eyes seeming to glow brighter even though they’re halfway closed and the light in the room is dim, the walls washed in a soft cast of yellow thanks to the lamp on the side table.

“That could almost pass as a good form of punishment if I didn’t know that you are absolute shit at making tea, you’d be doing me a favor by not offering. I wouldn’t have to rudely turn you down.”  
Harry narrows his eyes back at the younger boy. He’s too smart for his own good. “Alright. I want you to chug that tea, come into the kitchen with me, you make a fresh one and then watch me drink it.”

Louis hums. “Better. But how do you know I won’t make it rubbish on purpose?”

“Because I’ll be watching you the whole time.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t know what makes a cuppa good, let alone what I could do to make it bad.”

Damnit. He’s right. And as much as Harry would love to come up with a witty response and well thought out compensation for the perspiration that now resides in his mattress, all his brain can focus on is the mug that’s being clutched tightly between both of Louis’ hands.

God, they’re so small. He can’t even close his entire hand around its girth. His whole body is like that. Small and compact and just little. Harry finds himself absolutely entrance by how easy it would be to force him into his arms, carry him straight off the ground so he can’t fight against the hug Harry is dying to give him. Louis’ light as a feather, despite the meat that houses itself in his bum and his thighs. If Harry were ever given the chance, manhandling him would be effortless, if not a given. 

He sighs loudly, fighting against the Alpha in his head that’s urging him to cross the room and get Louis pinned properly to the wall, prove to himself how easy it would be to take Louis exactly how he wants him. He’s too tired for this. Too tired to play games and too tired to pretend that the Alpha in him doesn’t want things it can’t have. And so rather than play this weird little back and forth, he gives up, dropping his arms to his sides and the tensions in his shoulders along with them. 

“Louis,” He says, the word feeling so right in his mouth, “Can we do this later? I promise, I’ll come up with some really good way to get you back for this, I’ll play whatever game you want, just not tonight. Please?” 

He hates the way his voice sounds, tired and a little begging. It’s a genuine representation of how he feels though. Exhausted and irritated and all around, desperate for the smaller, sweet smelling boy that stands across the room. 

It’s worth the honesty when Louis’ face softens, the tightness of his features fading away to reveals a face that looks just as tired as Harry feels. It’s a relief, watching Louis drop the facade. Must mean he’s got at least a little pity stored away for Harry, the idea of that enough to light a small fire of sizzling embers in his belly.

Louis is the first to move, shuffling forward until he can set the mug down on the table, and before the porcelain meets the wood, Harry is moving to meet him. 

The fit is better than puzzle pieces, it’s like two worlds finally becoming one the second Harry has Louis in his arms. It’s better than anything he’s ever felt, soft and firm, warm but airy. For the first time in six weeks, the breath Harry takes isn’t labored. For the first time in six weeks, Harry feels like he’s home. 

He’s shameless about the way he scents Louis, breathing in that mouth-watering sweet smell that Louis carries with him everywhere. It’s not proper, no where even close. Scenting is not friend like behavior, even for friends as best as Louis and Harry. But Louis is giving just as good as he’s getting, his nose pressed right into the center of Harry’s chest, taking in lung fulls of what Harry has been described to as peppermint and clove. Earthy and warm. 

He should let go, push Louis away from him. This inappropriate. Risqué even. He should make Louis leave. But he’s been without for so long and the idea of sending Louis away now that he’s been tempted with an armful of him only makes the grip he has around Louis’ waist tighten. 

“I missed you,” Harry breathes into him, his heart skipping at the sound of Louis’ soft giggle. 

“I know. You only told me about a thousand times.” 

They stand there like that for a long time, Harry’s check nestled atop Louis’ head, periodically pressing soft kisses the crown of chestnut colored hair that’s adorned on top. Louis lets him, holding on to Harry just as tight, his arms not quite able to fully circle Harry’s torso, but he makes an effort of it anyway. 

Harry could die like this, he thinks. Or better yet, let himself stone over as to never have to let Louis out of his grip again. He’d rather be frozen solid, let his muscles atrophy, if it meant he could keep this position for the rest of his life, forever blessed with the warm press of Omega in his arms and strawberries in the air. 

It’s over before he’s ready, Louis sighing like its Harry’s cue to pull away. It is sort of, because it works, the melancholy intake of breath putting a space between them before Harry has even realized it. 

“How was your trip?” Harry asks even though he knows he shouldn’t. Louis has only ever given up the bare essentials when it comes to talking about his family, the smaller boy repressed to even offer what little he has. In the two years they’ve know each other, all Harry has managed to find out is that he has six siblings, his mother is, like Louis, an artist, and his dad is a misogynistic alcoholic who has an unwavering hatred for male Omega’s. 

Louis hides it well. Up until he finally filled Harry in on the smallest of details, Louis never let on that his home life was as awful and traumatic as it is. It’s only when he’s talking about it that the hurt it’s caused him is truly evident. The pain that flashes quickly across his face the only telling sign that there are dark truths that lie there. It’s the same pain that flashes now, but Harry can’t help but ask him, too optimistic that, maybe, this visit was different somehow. 

Louis’ shoulders slump slightly in his hold, the smaller boy’s breath cutting off halfway. 

He seems proven wrong. 

“You know how it went,” Louis answers, his tone flat and hinting towards something sad, pulling out of Harry’s arms completely in favor of sitting down on the couch. 

“You could’ve stayed here,” Harry reminds him, plopping down on the cushion beside him, “You certainly have no remorse using your key.” He tries to joke, and is rewarded with a smile, but it’s small, sad, the light of it not quite meeting Louis’ eyes. 

“I know,” Louis nods and Harry knows it’s a thank you towards his offer. Louis pulls his knees up to his chest before saying, “Wouldn’t have gotten to see the kids though.” 

While Harry doesn’t know much more than the basics, he does know one of the only reasons Louis is willing to throw himself back into the line of fire that has become his trips home is for his six-younger sibling. Five girls and a little boy, there isn’t much in this world more important to Louis. Harry has never met them in person, but he knows each by name and has their faces memorized thanks to Louis’ mother like doting over them and the dozens of photos he carries around his wallet. 

Those six little siblings are Louis’ pride and joy, each one so special to him in their own way. Leaving for uni had been one of the hardest things Louis had ever done, at least, that’s what he has told Harry, because it meant leaving them behind as well. Every trip home is an involuntary acceptance of verbal and physical abuse for Louis. The only reason he embraces it is for the simple fact that he gets to visit him siblings, those six lovely faces making entering into that war zone positively worth it. 

“I’ll go with you next time,” Harry promises, reaching over to grip Louis’ knee in a firm yet tender hold, and that same sad smile breaks across Louis’ face because they both know how empty Harry’s words are. Harry has tried this before, made this same promise, but Louis won’t let him come. And it’s probably for good reason. They both know Louis’ dad would be dead on the sidewalk the second he tried to lay a hand on any one of his children or his wife if Harry were anywhere around while it was happening. 

“What about you, then? How’s your mum?” Louis asks, switching the subject. 

It’s Harry’s turn to break a sad smile. 

“She’s lovely,” he says with a sigh, leaning into the back of the couch, suddenly exhausted.

“What? Your family reunion not as warm and fuzzy as you hoped for?” Louis asks.

Harry chuckles sarcastically. “Not exactly.” 

Louis eyes his for a moment, his beautiful blue orbs squinting up to examine Harry’s face and Jesus, does Harry love when Louis makes that face. 

“You’re upset.” Louis says matter of fact. 

“I’m not.”

“You are.” 

Louis shifts suddenly, pushing off on the cushions to move his body, fully rotates himself so he’s facing Harry dead on, his whole body angled to give Harry his full attention, and Harry has never felt more important in his life.

“What is it then?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised, expecting an answer.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to lay it all out, explain the irritation that must be radiating off him enough that Louis has noticed it, the frustration that’s no doubt leaking into his scent, and just as quickly, closes it. 

There’s no way he can complain to Louis about this. No matter how bad it was. No matter how annoying his mum and sister were or how many questions they asked. No matter the fact that they never saw his cousins or visited his Nan, none of that will ever compare to the awful things Louis had to endure during his time home. It might have been disappointing, but Harry has no room to complain here. It’s selfish. It’s selfish for him to even be sitting here acting upset. It would be entirely tactless and inconsiderate for Harry to use Louis’ to vent about his family. 

Harry shakes his head.

“Come on,” Louis pushes, nudging Harry’s shoulder.

“It really is nothing.” Harry tries and immediately wonders how on earth he though that line would work. Louis only eyes him harder.

“Hazza, I can see it all over your face,” Louis tell him, and God damned, that nick name. In Louis’ mouth, that nick name has never sounded better. 

Like he’s trying to prove a point, Louis bring one of his small hands up to press against Harry’s check. They’re cold. Well, colder than Harry’s skin. Being Alpha comes with a lot of personality traits as well as physical ones. Running warm isn’t something Harry has to try at. It feels nice though, comforting, and the strawberry smell that effervesces off Louis’ skin only intensifies. 

He runs his thumb over the cheek bone of Harry’s face, his touch feather light and precise and Harry is quickly lost in it. The smooth pad of Louis’ finger tracing a horizontal line over and over and a thick sort of calm washes over his entire body, almost like he’s stroking Harry’s soul. It’s awhile before Harry catches on that he’s tracing the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Tell me,” Louis says and his tone his soft, so sweet and almost pleading. Harry really doesn’t want to say no, the urge to lean in and kiss that sweet, pink mouth that’s only inches away from his own so great that he has to look away. 

Louis doesn’t like that. He pushes his face back so their eye to eye again. 

“Haz,” Louis presses, eyes boring into Harry’s so intensely that Harry can feel it in the inner recesses of his very being. 

It’s working. It’s working and he doesn’t want it to be working. It’s not fair for it to be working. Harry shakes his head. “Lou, I can’t.’

“Yes, you can.”

“No, sweetheart.”

“Harry,” Louis presses further, his whole head following Harry’s when it moves to look away again, purposefully trying to keep their eyes locked because he knows Harry is a sucker for eye contact. 

Louis’ always been good at this. He’s sensitive, although, he’ll never admit it. He always picks up on people emotions, can read them even when they don’t want to be read. The part that gets a little irking is when he pushes. Not only does he have a keen sense of empathy, he also knows how to pull the problem out of someone, convinces them to talk it through whether they want to or not. It’s the eyes, Harry thinks. Those soft, baby blues almost hypnotizing and Harry is feeling every ounce of their effect.

He sighs, knowing Louis will eventually get him to talk, his efforts at that point being less sweet and more vicious. Caving now is more self-preservation than it is Harry’s own weakness. At least, that’s what Harry is going to tell himself. 

“Mum and Gemma are engaged.” He says simply, watching Louis soft eyes go a little wide, revealing the soft grey’s that like to hide near his pupils. 

“Both of them?”

“At the same time.” Harry stresses, running a hand down his face, trying to smooth out the tension he finds there. 

“Jesus. Well that’s..” Louis trails off.

“Awful?” Harry fills in with half a laugh. 

“Something along those lines, yes.” Louis says, echoing Harry’s unamused chuckle. 

Harry sighs again, the chaos and stress of the last six weeks bubbling up inside him again, threatening to burst. He balls his hands, pressing his fists into his eyes on the side of a little too firmly, trying not to go off on a full tangent. 

“It isn’t. Not really. It’s.. nice.” He tries, but even he can’t find sturdy ground in his tone. 

“Do you hate them?” Louis questions, touching lightly against the backs of Harry’s hands to get him to move his fists away. 

Harry does. “The lads?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, somehow having shifted closer without Harry realizing it, their arms now brushing softly with every movement. “Are you territorial or something? Are you afraid of not being the only Alpha in the house?”

Louis knows the answer already, knows from their talks about how Harry feels about his family, about how hard being the Alpha of the house at six years old was, but Harry knows what he’s doing, and he can’t help but be grateful for it, even if a small part of him feels incredibly guilty. 

“Not at all. The opposite really.”

“Then what is it?” Louis asks and God, he’s sitting so close now, Harry can almost taste him. The candy like smell soaking the air around them and Harry is helpless to breathe it in. He wishes he could taste it.

“Do you know what filigree is?” Harry asks suddenly, and although it’s mostly due to the soft spin of his head Louis’ scent is causing, there’s a point to it, he swears, but the randomness of it causes a small giggle to pass Louis’ lips. A light, breathy laugh that makes Harry go even dizzier.

“I’m an artist, so yes, I know what filigree is.” 

Harry scrunches his eyebrows, suddenly half offended. “Hey, I’m an artist too and I didn’t know what filigree was!”

Louis shakes his head. “You’re a photographer,” He points out like that’s supposed to prove a point. 

“Photography is art!” Harry half yells, because it is! It’s one of the best kinds of art in Harry’s opinion, then again, he’s biased. But bias doesn’t make something other than what it is, and photography is definitely art!

“Yes, but it’s its own sort of art. I draw but no one calls me a drawer. Drawing falls under that umbrella that is being an artist. Photography doesn’t.” 

Harry scoffs, an entire argument forming in his head in a matter of second because as much as that has some logic to it and actually makes sense, Harry is too annoyed with today and the last six weeks to be okay with the fact that Louis’ argument actually has some logic to it.

Unfortunately for him, or maybe fortunately for the integrity of what was his argument, Louis is already talking before he gets the chance. 

“Does filigree have something to do with this awful mood you’re in?” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says with a long exhale of breath. “It’s just, between the two of them, I don’t think we had a single conversation that didn’t involve color schemes or frosting flavors. I had no idea what filigree was until about three weeks ago and now I know you can get it in several different styles and in twelve different finishes, metallic or otherwise.” 

“They’re already planning?” Louis questions and the confusion in his voice gives Harry a small yet well welcomed feeling of validation. 

“They’ve already planned. We’ve been over every possible decision. I don’t see how they have anything left to discuss.”

“Isn’t it a little early? Aren’t they just engaged?”

Harry nods, sinking himself further into the back of the couch, pleased when it causes Louis to slump closer. “Markus proposed in August and Robin’s Christmas present to mum was the ring.” 

“You’d think they’d want to savor it a little before jumping into the details. I know I would.”

Harry’s eyes shoot down to Louis’ hand when the small Omega glances down to his left ring finger, the one stretching out slightly, extending like he’s examining an invisible ring that Harry can’t see. His mind races, images of himself down on one knee, sliding a diamond encrusted band decorated in rose gold onto that finger. The same ring he has stored in his sock drawer in his bedroom upstairs.

“You’d think.” He says absently, his eyes zoned in on nothing else, unable to move away from Louis’ ring finger, suddenly looking so unrightfully naked that Harry aches to dress it. 

“Are they putting filigree on the invitations? Because if they are, they shouldn’t use metal tones. They should do it in glitter. Silver glitter if they’re going to be using spring flowers. Unless they are going for an autumnal sort of theme, then they should use gold.” 

That snaps him out of it, a nauseous type feeling rising in his throat. It’s safe to say that Harry is now completely traumatized by any talk that has to do with wedding planning. 

“Louis,” Harry groans, his head flopping back against the cushions. 

Louis giggles, burrowing himself into Harry’s side then. Working at it with his shoulder until Harry gets the hint to open up for him, drape an arm around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny.”

“If it were anyone else, I’d hold a grudge.” Harry sighs, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Aren’t I special,” Louis mocks sarcastically. 

“Yes. You are.” 

Harry hadn’t meant to say it. He’s exhausted and stressed and so so tempted by the strawberries in the air. He needs to get a handle on himself. He knows himself too well. The first thing to go is always his mouth. The next, his hands. 

There is a short stretch of silent, and Harry cracks his eyes open to check and see if Louis has gotten offended, maybe feeling uncomfortable with Harry’s words. It looks like the opposite. There’s a flush on Louis’ skin, one he’s trying to hide by staring down, keeping his eyes averted, but Harry doesn’t miss it. Nor does he miss the small smile that Louis it trying to hide behind the back of his hand. 

“I shouldn’t complain,” Harry says then, trying to break the silence. “I just, I wanted my break to be exactly that. A break. And it was anything but. Didn’t even get to visit my Nan.”

Louis’ head snaps back around, a sad expression paying across every feature of his face.

Harry returns the look, a sudden swell of sadness whirling around in his stomach. He pulls Louis a little closer. 

“But didn’t you have those flower made up?” Louis asks, leaning in when Harry tightens his grip.

Harry nods, “Paid for and everything. I thought the dusty purple color would look nice on her grave. She always liked purple. But, with the planning and the hustle and bustle and with mum absolutely out of her right mind, it just wasn’t feasible. We couldn’t find the time.” 

“Hazza,” Louis mumbles woefully, letting his head rest on Harry’s shoulder, a comforting gesture and in it, Harry finds just that. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry sighs again, finding himself wishing he could do anything else. Sighing seems to be the only true representation of how he’s feeling at the moment. Slow, labored intakes of breath his only real way of expressing his disappointment. 

“It’s alright. I’ll visit again in the summer. The purple roses will probably look better with the warm weather anyway.” 

Louis’ scent shifts a little, the sweet strawberry smell diluting a, like it’s been watered down. He’s sad. Sad for Harry or sad for himself, Harry isn’t sure. But Harry knows Louis doesn’t spend much of his sadness on personal matters. He rarely grants himself that curtesy. 

“We’ll go. Just me and you,” Louis says, a bright hopefulness in his voice that causes a small chuckle to release from Harry’s chest. 

“I’m serious,” he continues. “We won’t stay with your mum, that way she won’t drag you in to her wedding planning. We’ll drive up just to visit your Nan and we’ll leave her the flowers.” 

Harry smiles, the idea sounding absolutely perfect. It’s empty though, just like Harry’s offer to Louis had been. There won’t be anytime for a trip to Manchester until well into the spring, once the semester is over. 

“I think she’d really like that, Lou.” Harry says, unable to find it in him to bring any reality to this conversation. He’d rather pretend it were possible, let himself get lost in the idea of them actually fulfilling this. 

It’s Louis’ turn to sigh then, nuzzling himself in closer to Harry, that watered-down berry smell still hanging faintly in the air. 

“I wish I could have met her. I know how important to you she was.”

That sad swell in Harry swirls harder. Important is an understatement. Harry’s Nan was everything to him. She’s the soul reason he went into photography in the first place. She was always so kind and so loving, she viewed the world as everything other than what it was, found beauty in things that looked so mundane to everyone else. She never had a bad word to say about anyone, always found the light in every situation, and she encouraged Harry to do the same. 

And she loves taking photos. While his Nan never fell into the lines that define traditional photography, she was never seen without her camera. She photographed people. All her friends and family. She was always that slightly annoying grandparent that was trying to herd all her grandchildren together for a family picture. Harry doesn’t think she ever got one where all the children were looking up at the same time. 

She didn’t want to forget. That’s at least what she told Harry when he had asked her about the hundreds of shoes boxes she had full of photo’s stored in her spare room. Every photo represented a memory for her. A person or place that held some sort of significance in time. Moments she didn’t want to lose. 

When she got sick, she wasn’t able to take photo’s anymore, bound to her house like it was a prison cell. Harry took it upon himself to do it for her, a personal responsibility to capture memories that his Nan was missing out on. 

That’s when he fell in love with it. Day after day, capturing moment in time, giving them physical form. Small, mundane seconds that meant nothing to anyone but him and his Nan. Memories he could look back on any time he wanted, share them with whoever he wanted. 

He got into Brighton University during the finale months of his Nan’s life. She was so ecstatic when she found out he would be getting a degree in digital editing, a program that was heavily centered around photography. She was even happier when she found out the school was only a five-minute drive from the campus. Rather than have Harry pay to live at BU, she invited him to stay in her house with her while he attended school. Harry was elated, so thrilled to make something out of the hobby he and his nan had found comfort in together. He was excited to do this with her.

Luck is a foreign concept to Harry, just in the same way that tragedy is not. She passed away the summer before classes started. 

She left him the house. A small, two story town house that is fully paid for with Harry’s name marked as the owner. It was her gift to him, something to remember her by, although Harry knows he would never have any troubles remembering that sweet woman. 

Her death was the most devastating thing that has ever happened in his life. She was his world. He cried for weeks when he, his mum and Gemma moved to Manchester when he was 8 and cried double as much the day he realized he would never see her again. His biggest regret has always been that he hadn’t spent more time with her, only able to see her during Christmas or birthdays or family reunions. 

Sitting here now though, he’s heartbroken for an entirely new reason. He regrets that she never got to meet Louis. 

It wouldn’t have been possible; he and Louis didn’t even know each other until his second year. But there’s something devastating to him now, knowing that his Nan never got to meet the sweet boy sitting on the couch beside him, never got to meet his best friend. She never got to meet the boy he’s in love with.

She would’ve loved him. Mostly, because Harry does, but also because the two of them would have shared that same hopeful optimism. They both view the world with such unique eyes, so ready to find whatever it is they’ve been looking for and willing to accept it, no matter what it is, so sure it’s on its way. 

Harry dwells in it for longer than necessary, not noticing that he has zoned off until his eyes come back to focus, looking over to find Louis’ own eyes closed, the whole weight of his head being supported by Harry’s chest. 

It’s one of the prettiest sights Harry has ever seen. Louis, slacked mouth, with some of the most delicate eyelashes on the plant, breathing softly into the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt. He doesn’t need his camera to remember this, although, he finds himself wishing he had it close by. He learned a long time ago that when it comes to Louis, it’s always safer to have his camera at the ready. 

Regretfully and so unwilling, he nudges Louis’ shoulder slightly, only barely moving Louis’ head. It works, to his dismay. Louis’ eyes flutter open softly, glancing confusingly around the room until he looks up to see Harry. 

“Can you stay here tonight?” Harry whispers, wanting to keep Louis close to sleep, but having to ask as to not get his hopes up. 

He’s relived when Louis nods. His eyes fluttering closed again and Harry is so happy to slide his arm under Louis thighs, maneuver the small Omega into his lap so he can stand up with Louis in his arms. 

He carries Louis upstairs to his room, setting the boy down on his feet at the foot of the bed. He stares for a second, watching with a smile while Louis rub his eyes with too small fists, before he sheds himself of his shirt swiftly. 

He tries not to read too much into the way Louis’ eyes follow his movements, his sea glass gaze tracing up Harry’s torso with every inch of new skin that’s exposed. He can feel his own cheek flushing, can smell his own scent spike, and prays hard to himself that Louis doesn’t smell it too. 

He hands the t-shirt to Louis, knowing if he were to toss it on the floor, Louis would only end up hunting it down at some point during the night, hungry for the smell it houses. 

The smaller boy takes it gratefully, shucking his own shirt off to replace it with the warm one Harry has just given him. 

“I know how I’m going to get you back for the pillow.” Harry says conversationally, like they aren’t both working their pants off their legs. 

“Do you?” Louis asks, fighting to get his thick thighs out of his trackies and Harry has to pause putting his cotton sleep trousers on to watch the battle, Louis wiggling his bum a little too tempting in order to free himself from the fabric. 

Harry hums in response, crossing the room in order to throw the piles of laundry he had been sorting on to the floor, situating himself down on the right side of the bed, sliding his body in between the mattress and the blankets. It’s not the normal side he sleeps on. The left side is the one closest to the door, and Harry and Louis both know Harry has a complex about sleeping on the side of the bed nearest the door. It’s a stupid Alpha thing, that’s what Louis thinks anyway. If someone were going to break in and attack them, Harry would be the first to get hit because he would be closer, meaning the attacker would have to get through him in order to get to Louis. 

In the going on four years Harry has lived here, not one time has anyone ever even attempted a break in. The neighborhood where his house resides is quiet and filled to the brim with elderly people. It’s peaceful and calm on the worst of nights. But the Alpha in him isn’t willing to risk it, not when the risk is as sweet and pretty as Louis is. 

Louis must be tired though, because he doesn’t notice that Harry has crawled in on his usual side of the bed. He leaves himself trouserless, wearing nothing but Harry’s t-shirt and his pants, shuffling over to the empty side of the bed. 

Harry waits with a hidden smirk, watching Louis adjust himself under the covers, wiggle his torso down further under them, before he goes to lay his head down, clearly forgetting the trick he had pulled on Harry earlier. 

Louis yelps when his head hits the pillow, a high pitch screech sounding from his mouth as he lurches up hard away from the mattress. 

Harry bursts into laughter, rolling over onto his side to hide most of it in the pillow under his head that is, to his fortune, completely dry. 

“Harold! I swear to god!” Louis squeaks, moving so fast that Harry almost isn’t quick enough. He’s got the soaking wet pillow in his grasp, held over his head like he plans to whack Harry in the head with it. It isn’t fast enough though. Harry is reaching up in a flash, catching Louis by the wrist and using the force of his body to roll them both. Louis ends up underneath him, his thighs spread to accommodate Harry, the wet pillow dropped and forget on the floor beside the bed. 

It almost lines up, their fit almost perfect. All it would take is one small shift up to get them connected. Staying where he is, forcing himself not to press his cock into Louis’ is, to date, the hardest thing Harry has ever had to do. 

Louis tries to fight him because now that Harry has him pinned, Louis’ head is laying right on the wet spot the pillow had made on the sheets, now doubt wetting the hair that blesses the back of Louis’ head. He gets his hands on Harry’s shoulders, shoving up hard, and Harry fights to swallow the laugh that bubbles in his mouth. Harry can tell Louis is really trying, pushing against him with all his might, grunting from his exerted strength, but the force is barely anything. Harry doesn’t so much as budge and if he knew it wouldn’t rile Louis up further, he would say that this is exactly why he can’t trust Louis to be left alone. 

“You’re the one who got the bed wet,” Harry says easily, barely using any force at all to take both of Louis’ delicate wrists, pinning both his arms to the bed on either side of his head. “You’re the one who has to sleep in it.” 

Louis huff, trying to yank his hands out of Harry’s grip. Harry is too strong for him; he doesn’t gain an inch. 

“You’re so mean to me sometimes!” Louis half shouts, not catching on to the fact that he’s too weak to yank his arms free, his elbows flailing as he yanks down over and over. 

He crocks his eyebrow and scoffs sarcastically. “I’m mean to you. I’m mean to you?”

“Yes!” Louis nods, still yanking his arms. 

Harry half chuckles. “I’m mean to you but I had a key made to my house so you can stay here? So you can stay safe? I’m mean to you but you’re the one who got my bed soaking wet? I’m mean to you even though I brought you a present back from Manchester?”

Louis stills then, just like Harry knew he would. His eyes lighting up in the half dark room in a way that would have scientists questioning how it’s possible. Harry gets lost in it, hypnotized by the way those eyes seem to shimmer, his grip loosening for only a moment, but Louis takes advantage of it. He yanks his hands down harshly, freeing them to shove up on Harry’s shoulders like he had before, only this time he uses his hips to his advantage, bucking them up with the same amount of force. 

It lines them up perfectly. There are only three layers of fabric between them and bare skin and none of those layers are particularly thick. Harry can feel every inch of it, can feel the press of Louis’ cock right up against his. Harry would by lying if he were to say he’s been soft since he stripped his shirt off for Louis to have. He’d also be lying if he were to say that Louis’ is soft where they are now pressed together. 

It lasts only a second, Harry moaning helplessly when their hips collide, and it gives Louis all the advantage he needs to flip them both over. 

Harry is on his back before he knows what’s happened. Louis is on top of him, thighs straddling his waist, his small hands around Harry wrists that are pinned to the bed by his head. 

Louis is looking down at him like he’s proven some sort of point, pride in his eyes so warm it’s burning into Harry’s skin. Harry stares back just as hot. There’s no way Louis doesn’t feel his hard cock pressing flush against his plump arse cheeks.

Louis puts more weight on his arms, pushing Harry’s hands further into the mattress, a smirk beginning to grow on his face. 

“And you always say I can’t defend myself against an Alpha. Looks like I can handle myself just fine.” 

Harry huffs out a breathless laugh, a smirk of his own growing. He bends his knees, planting his feet flat on the bed before saying, “That’s cute.” 

In one swift motion, he’s hauling them both off the bed, moving so fast and with so much force that he doesn’t mean to slam Louis’ back into the wall as hard as he does. 

Louis whimpers, his whole body shoved flush with the cold of the wall behind him, all his weight held between it and the press of Harry’s torso. 

It leaves them both breathless, pink checked and dizzy. If Harry thought they were close a second ago, he has no word for what they are now. Louis’ hips sitting directly on his, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck, the room spinning faster with every second. Harry has him caged, chest to chest, one arm around Louis waist, the other pressed to the wall beside Louis’ head. 

He keeps Louis like that longer than he should, desperate to drink in every ounce of the boy he’s holding captive against the wall. Their eyes stay locked, blue boring into green and Harry swears he can see desperation behind the waves. There’s a question hidden in the water, Harry knows he can see it, and it matches the sweet spike of sugar the erupts in the air around them. But Louis says nothing. He only stares into Harry just as deeply, his mouth pink and open and waiting. 

Harry closes his eyes, afraid of what he’ll do if he lets himself look any longer.

He lays his forehead against Louis’, trying to catch his breath but finding nothing but strawberries in his lungs. 

“If I give you your present, will you stop being such a brat?” he asks with so much love in his voice, it would be a wonder if Louis doesn’t pick up on it. 

“I’d say that chances are good,” Louis says through labored breathing, and Harry opens his eyes to be met with a soft smile. 

He wants to kiss that mouth. Press his own into it and claim it for himself. He wants to steal it, own it, worship it. Never let it go a moment untouched, unused. His mouth wets, his head screaming at him to lean it, to take that warm fruit. Taste it. Bite it. Give it every ounce of attention it deserved. 

There’s a growl hidden under his exhale of breath. Frustration and longing and pure want. He shifts back so that Louis can drop to his feet between him and the wall and the second Louis is own his own two feet, every inch of where they were touching feels empty. He’s two inches away and Harry already misses him. 

“On the bed,” He says, unable to ignore the gravely roughness his voice now carries, turning to search for the duffle bag he had brought into the room earlier. 

Louis hums, hopping up on the mattress to say, “That’s very forward of you, Harold.” 

Harry laughs at that. If only Louis knew exactly how forward Harry wishes he could be. 

He easily finds the rectangle that’s been decorated with floral paper, straightening up to hand it to Louis with his other hand behind his back. 

Louis waits excited on the bed, his hands folded delicately in his laps, feet kicking off the side. He looks like a child on Christmas morning and, again, Harry wishes his camera were within arms reach instead of packed safely away in his travel bag. 

Louis eyes drift towards the gift clutched in Harry’s hands, his smile brightening when he notices how its wrapped. Floral prints have always been Louis’ favorite. 

“What is it?” he asks when Harry presses it into his hands, sitting down on the bed next to him with a laugh. 

“You’ll have to open it and find out.” 

Louis doesn’t waste a second longer, tearing into the paper with swift accuracy, careful not to destroy the white and golden design that Harry had carefully picked out.  
He gasps when he sees what’s inside, staring up at Harry with bright, wide eyes and an opened, surprised mouth. 

“You didn’t!” he sighs happily, fingers working to get the box of the HIMI watercolor palette open. 

Louis has talked of nothing else than this gouache set for months. Ever since he saw it featured online, it’s all he’s been able to think about. He’s pulled it up on hid phone for Harry to see countless times, every website he’s found it listed sadly stating that the product has been sold out.

Harry had signed up for multiple waiting lists, willing to wait as long as he had to in order to acquire the heavily lusted after prize that has the object of his infatuation’s attention. Harry managed to find it in a small art shop just outside his hometown, and in Louis’ favorite color too. A soft pastel green. 

Just the one he wanted. 

“How did you get this?” Louis asks in awe, already beaming over the small pots of thick jelly that have been placed into the palette.

“I can’t reveal my sources,” he smiles. “Do you like it.”

“It’s amazing! Not a traditional hometown gift but I’ll take it!”

Harry’s eyebrows squint, playing right in to the words he knew Louis’ would speak.

“A traditional hometown gift?” He asks with mock confusion.

“You know! Like when you go out of town, you buy gifts that are from where you are visiting. It’s geographical, things native to that location.”

“And this isn’t native to Manchester.”

“I’m not at all shitting on these, believe me!” Louis says with a serious expression and Harry laughs.

“I know you aren’t.” 

“But no, technically it’s not from Manchester.”

Bingo. That was the window he had been waiting for. Louis might be the game maker here, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be manipulated to play along to one of Harry’s.

“No, but this is,” Harry says, finally revealing the hand that had been hidden safely behind his back and with it, the delicate gold necklace he had draped carefully over his fingers. 

When it catches Louis’ sight, his face goes from a beaming excitement to a serious awe. He breathes out Harry’s name, reaching up with a soft touch to cradle the necklace in his own hands, using a light touch to gently stroke the incandescent stone that houses itself in the center of the chain.

“It’s a moon stone,” Harry tells him. “One that was mined in Manchester. I saw it in the same shop I got the palette. I thought it would match your eyes.”

Louis glances up at him, mouth open for words yet nothing comes out, eyes blinking softly.

“It does.” Harry says and is elated to watch the pink that spreads its way through Louis’ face. 

Harry takes it out of Louis’ hands, and, on instinct, Louis leans forward so Harry can securely fasten it around his neck. It’s easy to get clasped, Harry doesn’t have to fight with the fabric around Louis’ neck, Harry shirt hanging off his small frame. What’s difficult is ignoring the sensitive patch of pink skin the resides on Louis’ neck, right where his shoulder meets. Harry’s mouth can’t help but wet, the idea of sinking his teeth into that spot overwhelming. He wonders what sounds Louis would make if he did, wonder if he could get Louis to come just from lapping it over and over. 

He takes a shaky breath, forcing the Alpha in him as far down as can, and sits back on the bed once he has the necklace safely secured around Louis’ neck. 

“It’s beautiful.” Louis says, voice soft and sweet and full of bliss. 

Harry wants to tell him that he’s beautiful. Wants to breath it against his skin, tell him every day so he never forgets. But he’s on the edge, mind out of control, mouth getting too loose. He’s already had Louis against the wall once tonight, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to control himself if he sees that blush spark on Louis’ cheeks again. 

So, he swallows it, settling for a smile instead, happy to take Louis into his arms when he leans in for a hug, nothing but joy encapsulating his entire being. 

“Does this mean you’ll go to bed without a fight now?” he asks, his words half muffled by his mouth being pressed to the top of the smaller boy’s head. 

“Yes, I’ll be good.” Louis says, the smile on his face so clear in his voice. “I’ll even sleep on the wet side.”

Harry scoff. “You’re oblivious if you think I was being serious,” he says, shifting over to lay himself down in the middle of bed, closest to the wet circle on the sheets. 

He reaches over and winds an arm around Louis’ waist, gently pulling the smaller boy down beside him, Louis’ back to Harry’s chest. Together they work the covers up and over them, the two of them cuddling as close together as they can. 

These are the moments that Harry lives for. These few and far between bursts of time where the only things that seem to exist are him and the small boy he has grasped in his arms. This is what keeps him going. This is what reminds him of what everything is worth. It’s moment like this that complete him and destroy him all at once. Because as precious and special as they are in the moment, they always hurt like hell once they’re over. 

“I love you,” he whispers softly into the skin on the back of Louis’ neck, his arms absently pulling the Omega closer.

He isn’t expecting an answer, not at all doubting Louis’ ability to fall asleep in any position in less than three seconds. His belly explodes with fire works when he gets one, a breathy little, “I love you too, Hazza.” that’s so sleep thick that Harry wonders if Louis is even really awake. He doesn’t move to find out, simply relaxes what’s left of the tension in his muscles, lets himself fall asleep with his head dangerously close to wet sheets and a warm Omega in his arms. 

The sound of a phone ringing sounds off in the otherwise quiet room. An annoyingly loud chime of bells over and over again. It takes Harry a moment to notice it, so drowned in sleep that he’s almost convinced it’s apart of his dream. He’s well ready to ignore it, pray it stops on its own, because the idea of removing himself from the warm comfort he’s found himself in seems like a sin so hefty, it would surly send him to Hades. 

It’s the movement that wakes him fully. Hands pushing up off his chest, the being providing him warmth being separated from his body in one fast motion. He hisses when the cool air of the room settles against his hot skin, the flesh tightening, his nipples hardening. 

“Fuck,” he hears Louis swear disgruntled. Harry forces his eyes to open, finding Louis digging in his trackie pockets to retrieve his phone.

Harry is almost breathless from the way Louis looks, clad in nothing but his pants and Harry’s oversized t-shirt, hair sleep mussed, eyes barely opened. 

Beautiful. 

He finally tugs the phone free, his eyes staring blankly at the screen for a moment. Harry swears he sees a flash of panic run across his face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t confidently identify it. 

Louis swipes to answer the phone, turning his back to Harry to shuffle into the hallway. 

“Hey,” Louis says in a chipper voice and Harry can’t contain the bitter laugh that leaves his lips. 

He exhales sharply, the disappointment already settling in, that overwhelming feeling of pure bliss that had been growing in his chest suddenly leaking out like a water balloon with a pinhole. 

It’s like being blasted with cold water. Like being shaken awake from the best dream you’ve ever had. It’s the worst thing to have to go through yet Harry willingly subjects himself to it on a regular basis. 

He rakes a hand through his hair, collecting the curls that had fallen in his face to readjust them on his head. Glancing towards, the window, he notices that the sun is now out, its warm rays shining in the best it can through the white curtains. 

That’s something, at least. One full night is better than what happened last time. 

Harry is given enough time to have a wee, wash his hand, brush his teeth, and crawl back onto bed before Louis returns to the bedroom. 

He says nothing at first, heads straight for his trousers on the floor to start pulling them over his legs, his face lacking the bright beam of happiness it was shining with last night. 

“That was Liam.” He tells Harry, and Harry doesn’t need any more explanation than that. It’s over. Their time together is at its end. Not forever, just for now, just until tomorrow. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

He slips out of bed, finds Louis’ shirt on the floor, the one he came in, and hands it to the Omega once he has his trousers around his hips. 

“Do you need me to drive you?” Harry asks, unable to hide the small amount of hurt burrowed into his words, wanting so badly for Louis to say yes but, sadly, already knowing the answer.

Louis must pick up on his dejection, his eyes flashing with grief as he takes the shirt from Harry’s hands, pulling off the one he’s wearing and replacing it and Harry hates the way he no longer looks right, his inner Alpha screaming that the only clothing Louis should ever wear should be Harry’s.

Louis shakes his head. “I rode my bike.” 

Harry stills, his entire being detesting the idea of Louis riding back on his bike to campus, all alone and defenseless. A sick feeling rises up in his stomach, only made worse by the realization that Louis must have ridden his bike here last night, alone, in the dark. And smelling like that!

“I’ll be fine, Harry,” Louis half laughs, the sound sweet and delicate, but it doesn’t match his face at all, he’s features are washed in something Harry can’t place, but they seem to match the disappointed feeling he has growing in his bones. 

Harry swallows it. He fucking hates the idea of letting Louis leave on his own, biking back to campus by himself. Open and unexpecting and too pretty for his own good. But what else is he going to do? Drop Louis off on campus where Liam is waiting for him? 

That would be more dangerous than anything that could happen to Louis while he’s on his bike. 

“You’ll text me when you get there?” He asks, and it isn’t a question, neither of them are under the illusion that it is, but Harry relaxes a fraction when Louis nods, promising that he will let Harry know that he’s safe. 

Harry follows Louis into the living room, watching silently as he gathers the rest of his things. Harry aches to force him to stay, beg him not to go, hide his shoes to keep him here longer. But it’s not Harry’s place to do any of that, and he and Louis both know it. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Louis asks, shoes now secured on his feet, his coat pulled around him tightly. Harry loves that coat; it contours to Louis’ waist in a way that always makes his mouth water. It wets now, despite his disapproval. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harry confirms, smiling sadly when Louis opens the door. He returns the look, slipping out of the house with an expression of resentment. But as heartbreaking as it is and as pissed off as Harry feels and even though there is clearly a shared disappointment between the two, it doesn’t change anything. It never does. And before Harry can say anything about it, Louis is gone, the door shut tightly behind him. 

Cakes. He has impeccable taste in cakes. He also has impeccable taste in Male Omega’s who have strong, vicious, Alpha boyfriends.


	2. Flash back - When they met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback to when H and L met. It's cute and I thought it needed to be added

August 14th - Two years earlier

“We might just have to get over it. The Union looks like our only option,” Niall suggested with a shrug. Harry feels his face scrunch with displeasure at the thought of entering the stone walled building that’s located in the exact middle of the campus.

“I really don’t want to,” he groans, letting his head fall back against his shoulders as he and his friends walk down the hallway and towards the door.

“I don’t think we have any other choice,” Zayn huffs, his tone just as grim as Harry’s had been.

Harry doesn’t mind eating in the Union. The cafeteria has a pretty reliable reputation of serving food that is both edible and pretty good tasting. Well, good tasting as far as school lunch can be considered. It’s usually warm, and there are always different options to choose from. But it’s typically pretty basic. Fills his hungry belly up nicely, but it’s never anything to write home over.

One of the biggest reasons Harry and his friends eat there as much as they do is that it’s free. Well, sort of. Brighton University has a meal plan set up for its students. A portion of their financial aid gets loaded onto a temporary meal card that they can use at the cafeteria, vending machines, and other nourishment dispensaries located around campus. Because the card is loaded with money that he’s going to have to pay back later, it makes it feel like it’s free because there isn’t any actual money being paid out of pocket in the moment and Harry wants to live in that fantasy for as long as he can.

It’s just passed noon. Normally, he and his friends would be headed straight for the union in search of lunch, their bellies empty and ravenous after a morning filled with math and science lessons. Today, however, is a little different. Rather than rushing straight across the quad in pursuit of food, Harry, Niall and Zayn are trying to come up every excuse to avoid their usual lunch time hangout while still eating a suitable meal.

It isn’t going well. Typically, it wouldn’t be this dramatic. If they didn’t want to eat in the cafeteria, they’d just hop in Harry’s beat up, old, red truck and drive into London for some take away. But, just like always, luck wasn’t on Harry’s side this morning. He had pulled into parking lot J on the west side of the campus with a tire so flat, the rim was scraping against the pavement. Not only had it pissed Harry off so much that it had his inner Alpha telling him to kick the car until the bed came lose, it also eliminated any chance of them getting an off-campus lunch until he could get the tire changed.

“Don’t you have a spire tire?” Niall asked, pushing the door to Harrison Hall open with the backside of his shoulder.

The group is hit with a soft breeze, the Autumn air chilling more as the season progresses. Harry welcomes the subtle nip. While his two Beta friends flank him, their jackets pulled taught around their shoulders, Harry wears nothing to warm him save for the wrist length sleeves of his black cotton-knit shirt. Niall and Zayn don’t look bothered by the cold air, but he bets they wouldn’t be very happy if they were to be without their jackets. Harry, on the other hand, would be naked from the waist up right now if he knew it wouldn’t cost him a trip to the dean’s office.

Harry rubs at his eyes, an aggravation settling into him from their lack of options. “Of course, I have a spare tire.” He says, just as Zayn is saying the exact words.

“Of course, he has a spare tire, Niall. It’s Harry, for crying out loud.”

The comment makes Harry smile. It’s a weird mix of compliment and complaint but Harry always takes it as the former. He’s been told time and time again by these two that he’s annoying. His overprotective, always prepared, big brother sort of attitude gets to be overbearing at times. 

“Right, I forgot who I was talking about,” Niall snickers, his head shaking with something Harry might think is fondness. “Lemme guess, you don’t just have one spare in the bed of your truck.”

Harry makes a face, his head ducking down to hide the obvious confession of his facial features, but Niall sees right though it and so Harry doesn’t try to fake it.

“I have three,” He admits, running his hand though the curls at the base of his neck.

“Three?!” Niall gawks and the same time that Zayn laughs out, “Jesus.”

“Fuck off,” Harry says with a light shove to Zayn’s shoulder, a laugh echoing from his own mouth.

“Wait a minute, wait- If you have three fucking spares, why can’t we go and get lunch?”

Harry turns to stare down his Irish friend, feeling Zayn do the same, the two pairs of eyes staring at the Beta with a look of disbelief. Niall shrinks in on himself a little, muttering out an apology and a, “Jeez.” as the group continues to trek down the sidewalk.

“You’ve never changed a tire before have you?” Harry asks, shoving his hands into his jean pockets for the simple fact that he had nothing else to do with them.

Niall shakes his head, dodging a rather large crack in the sidewalk by hopping slightly in front of Harry. “I’ve never had to.”

“It’s not just something you can like, do.” Zayn says, gesturing vaguely with is hands. “It takes special tools, like wrenches and a jack and stuff. And while I’m sure our friend Harry here has all that stuff neatly stowed in his truck just in case,” Zayn says the last three words with mock distain, using his pointer and middle finger to make air quotes. Harry shoved him again, a little harder this time but still just as playful. “It still takes a while to do.”

“Awhile as in longer than our lunch break?” Niall asks, falling in line again at Harry’s side.

“If I started right now, I might be done in an hour. But that’s if everything goes right.” Harry explains, a huff in his voice because his life would be so much easier if he could just get the tire changed now while the sun is still up.

“And with Harry’s luck, almost nothing is guaranteed to go right.” Zayn laughs, offering Harry a firm pat on the back.

“Isn’t that the fucking truth.” Harry mutters.

The closer they get to the Union, the more the reason Harry was dreading coming in the first place starts to materialize. Today is August 14th. Also known as the start of the new school year and the first day of the fall semester. For Harry, this is the second semester of his Sophomore year, but for everyone one of the hundreds of people that are filtering in and out of the Union doors, this marks the first day of their Freshman year.

Harry, unlike some upperclassmen, has no issue with freshman. It’s a dumb stigma, in his opinion. None of them have ever done this before. Of course, they’re going to be at least a little ignorant to the way Uni is supposed to work, especially when the organization they have chosen to educate them is one of London’s finest, Brighton University.

Are freshman irritating? Yes, a little. But Harry can’t really say much about it. He himself was one just last year. And that’s why he knows he can’t blame them. The first few weeks of Uni are so fucking weird and scary and almost nothing makes any sense. Freshman shouldn’t be punished for being the bright-eyed, full of hope, void from reality, little doe’s they are. That’s exactly how Harry was when he first started here in the spring two years back. But that was 78 weeks of absolute hell ago. Not that Brighton is a shit school or anything. It’s just intense. There a reason it’s London’s most highly ranked private uni. It’s heavily sought after by anyone who’s willing to put the work in to maintain a 4.0. It’s vicious and well equipped and expensive as hell. But, if you’re lucky enough to get in, there aren’t many jobs that would pass up having an employee that have attended the prestigious Brighton University. And all those high school graduates that had lusted after and prayed to get into Brighton, that applied and got accepted thanks to their exceptional GPA and extensive list of extracurricular activities, are now packed together as tight as sausages in a can, the walls of the Union the only thing keeping them contained.

They are being sorted. Alpha’s in a line, Beta’s in another. The line for the Omega’s must be around the back because from where they’re standing, all Harry can see is red and blue lanyards. You’d think such an elite school would have a better plan set in place for freshman to get in, get assigned a dorm, and get an appointment with their advisor. Apparently, that’s nothing more than wishful thinking. The extent of their organization stops at having secondary gender sorted lines. Harry remembers it taking the better part of the school day to finally get to the front of the line. There, he was given his meal card, his student ID, a map of the campus, an appointment card with his adviser’s name and office number on it and was asked if he wanted to register anyone as his mate. A three hour wait for no more than ten minutes worth of information. He doesn’t envy a single one of them, if anything, he feels empathetic.

As it stands now, they’ve got two options. Make their way to parking lot J where Harry’s truck awaits, sad and angled oddly towards the ground. Niall and Zayn could try to help him change the tire, speed up the process, but Harry knows from past experience that their version of helping is standing a few feet away, offering unneeded, unhelpful advice every few seconds.

Even if everything did line up, if he got the tire changed with no setbacks, they all have classes at 12:15. It would take every minute of their gap to do it. It would have to be a tradeoff. Does he want to eat on his lunch, or does he want to change the tire in the dark when his classes finally end at 9:45?

But even then, eating on his lunch isn’t a better consolation prize. The Union looks absolutely bloated, so full of fresh student meat that the lines are queuing out the doors. The cafeteria shouldn’t be crowded, it’s on the other side of the building, far from where the freshman should be getting registered. But getting to it is going to be like fighting through a jungle thick with weeds and hanging vines.

All around, it’s more effort than Harry want to put in right now.

But so is changing the tire.

“Should I lead us in then?” Harry asks his two friends, all three of them sharing the same regretful glance.

Pushing through the crowd is rough for only a few minutes. They make it through the doors easy enough, only to find that the volume of freshman students inside is almost triple what they saw lined up outside. Even still, most of them are already filing into the gym, the sea of bodies separating them from the hallway they needed isn’t very thick.

Harry is in front, kindly shifting his way in between the new students with Zayn and Niall tucked tightly behind him. The worst part is the smell. A corridor this small packed with this many people, all with their own scents that mark their secondary genders. Add that to the list of reasons why Brighton needs to change the way they do their orientation. By the time they reach the empty part of the room, Harry’s head aches from all the different scents. He can tell there are mostly Beta’s in the room. The overall atmosphere coated in something he can only describe as laundry detergent. It’s a fresh smell. Subtle. A very clear Beta type smell with a tinge of underlying earth scent that Harry knows are the Alphas.

Although he can’t see them, he knows the Omega’s must already be in the gym, the faint smell of roses and lavender wafting out from between the double doors.

“I’m so glad we never have to do that again,” Niall says, his breathing heavy and he yanks down the front of his shirt, adjusting it back into its proper place. 

Harry huffs out in agreeance, raking his hands through his hair to readjust his curls.

They find the hallway that leads to the cafeteria easily, knowing its location from memory, the three of them headed in that direction with little to no second thoughts. But when they go to round the turn that will lead them down the right path, Harry knocks into someone.

Hard.

They must have been running. Harry isn’t the biggest Alpha in the world, but he’s an Alpha, none the less. He’s 6’2, thick muscles lining the bones of his body, long and lean. He’s not as bulky as some other Alpha’s he knows, but he’s no less strong. No less sturdy. Whatever just came flying around the corner must have been moving at a lighting fast pace because their collision has Harry’s feet coming out from underneath him.

The second Harry feels them dropping, he instinctively reaches out to grip the body falling beside him. He pulls whoever it is tight against him and twists so, when they do hit the floor, he’s the one that slams down on the tile, the other person protected from the ground by the tight press to his chest.

Harry is pretty sure he hears Niall and Zayn gasp, but he can’t make it out behind the ringing in his ears. The sound he makes is involuntary, a long, pained groaned breaking ragged from his throat. There’s a pain radiating from his shoulder, down his side and across his chest, moving in a lightning like wave to the time of his heartbeat. It isn’t until he goes to breathe that he finds the breath has been knocked out of him, the air that travels through his empty lungs burns with the sweet relief of oxygen. His next breath is even more painful, but in a different sort of way. His lungs weren’t ready for the abrupt scent of ripe fruit, the overly sweet scent of strawberries that forces its way into Harry’s body, making his mouth water.

“Holy shit,” he mutters out before he can think better of it, his voice entirely too deep, a growl laced around the edges of his words.

Whoever this is on top of him has to be an Omega. Harry has never smelled a scent this sweet, this mind bogglingly delicious, before. He’s only taken one breath and he can already feel the way his tongue aches to taste, is already fighting against the tightening twist of the pull in his lower stomach, a desperate need to get closer.

If the smell of absolute temptation wasn’t enough to proof it, Harry’s hands confirm his suspicion. He rakes them down the persons sides in an effort to feel for any damage, but he’s stopped short when his hands start to climb a steep hump that can’t be mistaken for anything other than the curviest hips Harry has ever felt.

He stiffens, his breath going ragged and his mouth wetting with saliva all over again. This person, whoever this is, is _unmistakably_ O. There’s no question about it. Harry has never met a Beta with this sweet of a smell and curves that literally have his hands fitting perfectly in the dip of their waist. Fuck, he’s never even met another Omega with a smell or curves like these!

His eyes crack open, not even realizing he had shut them. His vision is blurry, everything cloudy around the edges. Harry blames it on the force of the fall. His entire upper body protests as he lifts his head to try and get a better look at whoever it is that’s got his palms starting to sweat and his head going a little dizzy. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his voice no less deep than before, genuine worry coating his words because for him to be this sore just after falling, the two of them must have hit the ground forcefully.

The person laying in his chest shifts, their head moving in a way so the pairs eyes meet. Harry blinks a few times to clear his vision enough that he can make out the features of the persons face. They are mere inches apart; Harry’s vision fills with the beautiful sight of ocean blue eyes. He stares at them for a moment, his own eyes widening at the realization of exactly what this person is.

“I think so,” the boy says, using two hand against Harry’s chest to start pushing himself up and before Harry can do anything about it, the boy is sitting up fully, his arse nestled right in the cradle of Harry’s hips.

Harry is quickly diminished, the only thing he’s good for becoming his laying on the floor, staring up at the boy that’s straddling his hips with two, thick, juicy thighs. All he can do is look, take in the sight of the first male Omega that he’s ever come across. His hands are overcome with the urge to touch and Harry’s hips almost buck when he realizes that he is, his giant hands still situated firmly on the boy’s waist.

He’s just, he’s so fucking small. Petite in just the right ways. Harry bets if they were to stand, the boy would barely reach his collar bone. His features, every last one, is small and round. If Harry’s hands were to drift just a little further south, his palms would scale a different mountain all together, one that Harry’s cock is become very well acquainted with.

He’s beautiful. His fringe is so soft looking, tinted a hazelnut brown. His skin is a glimmering tan, even in the colder Autumn months. He looks fresh from the beach, and Harry finds himself wondering what that skin must taste like. What sort of noise the boy would make if he bit into it?

He loses all control over his eyes, his gaze going back and forth from the obscene curves that causes the boys body to swivel, and the striking deep blue that lays in the foreground of his eyes. Mystifying. Everything about him has Harry suddenly in a trance. His limbs are frozen, his mouth is stagnant. He is completely unwilling to move, fearful to remove this Omega from his place.

The boy is staring back at him, a faint blush blooming over his cheeks, and Harry wonders what that flush would feel like against the skin of his palm. Their eyes are locked, a fierce gaze unwilling to falter, and for a second, Harry has completely forgotten that they two are in public, situated in a way that could easily get them both in trouble.

And then Niall speaks.

“You’re a boy.” He says, astonished. For the first time since Harry opened his eyes, he looks away from the boy to glare at Niall with a warning ferocity.

The boy scrunches his face up at Niall, his eyes going squinty as he says with fake enthusiasm, “Wow, what gave me away?”

Niall’s eyes widen even further, his hands waving absently in front of him. “But you’re like!”

“O?” The boy rolls his eyes and Harry thinks he feels his heart melt.

“Yeah!” Niall half shouts.

“Oh, and I’m sure it’s the yellow that gave me away,” the boy says, gesturing to the yellow cord of his lanyard around his neck and, Jesus, that sass. The absolute mouth this little Omega has on him. Jesus Christ. Harry has to find out what it tastes like. Wonders what he’d have to do to get this Omega to swallow his own words. The boy sits back further onto Harry’s hips, the full weight of him now being supported by Harry’s crotch. He swallows roughly.

_Do not get a boner. Do not get hard._

“No but-” Niall starts, but before he can finish, Harry is reluctantly removing one of his hands form the Omegas hips to bop Niall once firmly in the side.

“Fucking ow!” He half shrieks, clutching his ribcage a little too dramatically.

“Don’t be a dick. You’re being rude.” Harry says sternly, a heated glare forming on his face meant for his Beta friend.

It completely evaporates at the sound of the Omegas laugh, light and breathy, the boy clearly amused by Niall’s punishment. The sound makes Harry’s head spin a little.

Their gaze meets again, and Harry’s breath catches slightly. He offers up to the boy an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry about him,” Harry clears his throat. “He doesn’t have very good manners, apparently.” He side eyes Niall who offers up a sheepish smile, both he and Zayn staring at the small boy in Harry’s lap, bewildered.

The boy squints his eyes. “Backwards day for me then, innit?” he says in a sweet, high pitched voice.

Harry feels his eyebrows knit together, a confused look playing across his face that the boy seems to notice.

“Normally, it’s the Alphas that are lacking in the manners department. I’ve never seen a Beta get scolded by an Alpha,” He explains.

Harry can feel the faint blush that creeps across his face. Of course, this boy can smell him. It’s the same way that Harry can Omega all over the boy’s skin. But he can’t help the tingle that rolls down his spine knowing that this gorgeous thing in his lap was scenting him. Taking in his smell the same way Harry had been doing to him. Breathing it deeply to get a sense of who Harry is.

Harry smiles at what he thinks is the Omega’s sly attempt at a complement. “He’s normally not so offensive. I think you took him off guard.”

The boy nods. “Not every day you see a male Omega, I guess.”

Harry laughs awkwardly. “That’s an understatement. Are you alright?” Harry asks and can’t help the way his hands run over the boy’s torso again, going up and down his rib cage, feeling the dip of his waist, the climb of his hips. He’s just checking to see if the boy has any injuries, but his hands linger on the boy’s hips for far longer than necessary. His inner Alpha is reeling, begging Harry to sink his hands further south. It’s a very difficult thought to ignore.

“I’m fine.” The boy says, looking over his own body quickly before he turns his gaze back to Harry. “Are you? Did you hit your head?”

Harry hadn’t hit his head. It was his shoulder that had smacked against the ground, but before he can clarify that to the boy, the Omega is leaning forward, one small, delicate hand reaching up to lay softly on Harry’s chest and for a second, all Harry can do is stare down at it and pray that the boy doesn’t feel Harry’s ever increasing heart beat under his right palm.

The boys other hand tilts Harry head down before it starts to rake over his curls, separating the ringlets until the boy is able to get a clear look at the skin on Harry’s scalp.

Harry freezes, eyes wide as the boy pokes around at Harry head. Their position isn’t the most comfortable, but they are angled so Harry’s face it tucked right in the crook of the Omegas neck. He’s helpless, taking a deep breath, doing his best to keep it silent and the groan that builds in his throat after. God, this Omega smells so good, and the more he breaths him in, the stronger that pull in his belly gets. Harry can’t image being around him all the time, expected to keep his distance, his hands to himself. It’s made worse when the collar of the boy’s shirt gets tugged away from his neck when the boy moves his hand further into Harry’s hair. A soft patch of light pink skin exposed right where his neck meets his shoulder. His bond-spot. Soft pink flesh unmarked. Untouched. The Omega isn’t mated. A rare male Omega has literally just stumbled into Harry’s path, literally crashed into Harry’s life, and he’s unmated. Harry is known for his bad luck, so much so that Niall and Zayn make jokes about it. But this, this is so much more than just good luck that Harry isn’t even sure that it’s actually happening.

Harry’s tongue flicks from his open mouth for the briefest of seconds only to quickly be swallowed back in. His whole body’s overwhelmed by the idea of licking over that spot. Of tasting the soft skin of the Omega’s neck. Harry knows it would feel good for him. Omega’s necks are one of the most sensitive parts of their bodies. Harry’s heard stories of Alpha’s getting their Omegas to orgasm just from lapping over the tenderness of their bond-spot. He has to clench his jaw hard, swallow roughly, force his inner Alpha to shut the fuck up because he really can’t afford the repercussions that come with tasting the mating spot of what must be the only male Omega on Brighton’s campus.

Lucky for Harry, but to his inner Alpha’s dismay, the boy decides then that Harry must not be hurt after all. He sits back onto Harry’s lap after announcing his discovery, offers Harry a bright smile, and then climbs off Harry to stand by Niall and Zayn. Harry lets out a shaky breath, the absence of the boy from his lap too soon for his liking.

Harry follows the boys lead, standing up to brush off the dirt from his trousers. When he stands straight, he’s stunned silent for a second longer, the soft, stretchy fabric of the boy’s shirt accentuating his waist further.

“I’m sorry I ran into you,” he finds himself blurting out. It’s sort of backwards. He’s pretty sure it was the boy that ran into him. But his brain and his mouth are operating on two different plains right now. Or maybe, they’re both infatuated with the same thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” the boy shrugs off. “I was wondering how long it was going to take for an Alpha to tackle me to the ground.”

Harry doesn’t catch it at first, nodding methodically as the boy starts to walk away, but then the words register in Harry’s fogged up mind and the idea of letting this boy go unaccompanied into a room full of unsuspecting Alpha’s has him whipping his head towards the direction the boy had walked off in.

The hall is empty though, the small Omega out of his sights.

“Jesus!” Niall explains exuberantly.

Harry shoots him another look of warning, knowing full well Niall is about to go on a full tangent about how special and rare that boy must be, remark how lucky they are to have run in to him.

Harry agrees with all that, it isn’t that he feels differently. He just doesn’t want to think about all the Alphas in the gym that are about to start thinking the exact same thing.

“Let’s get some food,” Zayn says absently, nudging Niall towards the direction of the cafeteria before turning to clap Harry on the back.

“You good?” he asks and for a second, Harry doesn’t know. He’s suddenly frantic. Angry even. He’s so badly overcome with the urge to hunt that Omega down, whether it’s his place to do so or not. That boy, that beautiful, soft little thing, he literally had just fallen into Harry’s lap only to be gone just a quickly and what is there for Harry to do about it?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not if he wants to stay the kind acting Alpha he strives so desperately to be.

“’M fine,” he mumbles, eyes glued to the end of the hall where the Omega has vanished.

Out if his sight, but not out of his mind.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Harry growls loudly to himself. Currently, he has both arms shoved under the driver’s seat of his truck, something cold and mettle digging into the skin of his forearm. His fingers search over the dirt dusted carpeting, finding themselves unmet with the item of Harry’s pursuit. 

“Did you find them?” Niall asks from behind him, standing about three feet away, leaning against the bed of Harr’s truck like he thinks he’s actually going to find what Harry’s searching for.

He’s thankful for the way Zayn glares up at him, means that he doesn’t have to abandon his search just to make the point.

“Does it look like he’s found them Niall?” Zayn asks harshly, a clear aggravation on his voice that Harry can very easily relate to.

It’s just that it makes no sense. How the hell has he lost his lanyard. That tattered up cord of black and red fabric essentially represents his life. It identifies his secondary gender to the school faculty, it houses his student ID and Mating Card, it has his fucking car keys on it. But the most pressing thing, the reason he, Niall and Zayn are in parking lot J at 12:09, the two of them watching Harry dig ferociously though the cab of his truck, is because his lanyard also has his meal card clipped to it.

Could he have barrowed either Niall or Zayn’s meal card to get into the cafeteria? Yes. But from the second he reached down into his back pocket to retrieve the tattered, knitted cord from where it usually resides only to be met with its absence, all he’s been able to do it freak out.

Where is it? Where the hell is his shit? It’s like that feeling when you forget if you turned the stove off or not, the only real way of finding out being when you get home to see if your house is still standing or crumbled to the earth in flames. 

He couldn’t eat. There was no way food was going to sit comfortably on top of a belly full of anxiety. He had offered that Niall and Zayn go in without him. They had refused, following hot on Harry’s tail as he retraced his steps from this morning.

“Maybe you went somewhere else and forgot? And that’s where the keys are?” Niall offers up and Harry shakes his head, long ringlets falling into his eyes. Niall is absolutely no help. Just leaning on the bed of the truck, obviously pisses about having to leave the lunchroom without eating. At least Zayn is helping him, looking in the glove compartment, the cup holders.

“Harry doesn’t forget things, Niall,” Zayn states and he’s not wrong. Harry is almost disgustingly responsible, never forgetting his keys or birthdays or due dates. Doesn’t let the boys forget things either. He’s always the one reminding them not to forget their wallets before they take off in the car or not to forget their homework assignment. But apparently that trait, that some people like Niall find very annoying, must be fading away because for the first time ever, Harry has lost his lanyard.

It’s not a drastically big deal. He could go to the registration office and get all new cards made. But that would mean three different stacks of paperwork all asking him for the same information, offering up his banking information for the hundredth time so a portion of his student loans will be added onto his meal card, posing for another horribly taken ID picture that he’ll have to carry around for the next year of his life. Circling that same _no_ response to the question _“Do you want to register another student as your mate_?”.

Jesus, he would love more than anything to avoid answering that question for another six months.

Harry slams the driver’s side door closed and leans up against it, arms crossed, and eyes shut. His breathing coming out ragged. Angry. It’s not like him to forget where he’s left things, and the fact that he has, accompanied with the flat tire that is screaming straight at Harry’s Alpha, begging to be kick until it’s torn to shreds, gives Harry the unfortunate feeling that this is how the rest of the semester plans to go for him.

Zayn closes the passenger door and tucks his hands into his pockets, walking to join Niall and Harry on the driver’s side of the truck. “We’re gonna miss class,” he states and Harry hums in agreement.

“Can’t go if I don’t have my stuff. Can’t even get in the fucking building.”

That isn’t even an exaggeration. Brighton was one of the first Universities in London that changed their program to offer an education to all three secondary genders. While the vast majority of the community and Brighton’s sponsors supported this decision, there are a large group of people that, still to this day, have boycotted the school, it’s faculty and its students. The bigots hated the decision of allowing Omega’s onto the campus so much that six months after the initiation of the integration, they stormed the campus and attacked the Omega students, saying they didn’t have the rights to an education. Those poor students were assaulted, beaten, and told that they were nothing more than cock warmers and kitchen slaves. Brighton wised up quickly, installing state of the art security systems on every building on campus as well as manual locking doors, only unlocking with the swipe of an official student ID.

Right now, it looks like Harry has a choice to make. Either get new cards made, hell, get new car keys made! Or drop out of school.

The latter option suddenly sounds very appealing.

“Harry Styles,” he hears someone say. The scent of strawberry wine sneaking up behind them. Harry turns to see the boy from earlier, the one that knocked him down in the hallway, approaching them from a few feet down the parking lot. He smiles at Harry when their eyes catch and Harry is helpless but to return it, watching the sway of the boy’s hips as he closes in on the group. The same tug from earlier returning to his midsection.

He walks right up to the bed of the truck, the side opposite of the one Harry, Niall and Zayn are standing. He crosses his arms on top of the beds wall to rest his chin on his forearms. In the light of the afternoon sun, the boy looks gorgeous. His blue eyes shine so bright that Harry can practically see the waves moving inside them. His skin is so tan despite the cloudy, sunless winter they’ve head. It’s almost glowing, matches the orange that’s started to tint the leaves so gorgeously. His hair is hidden under a puffy red beanie but the strands that hang out look light and soft. And his smile. Jesus. His smile has Harry’s eyes stopping all together. There’s something about his smile. Something different to the smile he showed Harry earlier when they were in the Union. It’s got something to it, an added edge. Suspicious. Devilish almost. Harry is about to ask him what he’s doing here but he freezes, not remembering when he gave the boy his name.

He watches the Omega reach into the pocket of his cotton jacket, pulling something out to bring up to his face. A card? Harry’s eyes focus on it. A card. With a black and red lanyard hanging from it.

“Harry Styles. Student Number A0050108. Alpha. Sophomore.” The boy reads and as he does, he struts slowly around the truck, joining Harry and the boys on their side. At first, Harry can’t even register what’s going on because the boy in standing in full view now and the force tugging Harry towards him is getting a little hard to ignore. Harry was right about his assumption of the boy’s height. More than a full head shorter. God.

Harry can also see the boys features better now. Hips curving out from his waist in a slope that must go on for miles. Thighs that could squeeze harder than a python, thick and juicy and _jiggling_ with every step the boy takes. And that’s not the only thing on the boy that jiggles when he walks. It’s hard to see with the way the way they are angled head on, but Harry can catch the wiggle his bum makes every time he moves. And his tummy. Harry hadn’t noticed it before, but he can tell, even under his white t-shirt that the skin that resides there is soft and tender. Probably sensitive. The Alpha in Harry wonders what sort of noise the boy would let out if he were to sink his teeth into it. How that stomach would look swollen with his child.

“Registered mate?” the boy reads, his eyes flashing up to Harry’s with a wild like curiosity, his eyebrows raised. The look goes right to Harry’s chest, his heart squeezing.

“None.” He says and Harry watches his mouth form the word, so desperate for those lips to say his own name.

“You really shouldn’t be leaving your personal affects lying around,” the boy says and cocks one of his hips out, attitude dripping from every hump and valley of his body. It’s the way he twirls the lanyard around on his finger that draws Harry back to the present.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a little thief,” Harry retorts, annoyance clear in his voice but the smile the boy had brought across his face doesn’t budge.

The boy scoffs, throwing the lanyard at Harry, catching the Alpha off guard. The lanyard bumps Harry in the chest and he fumbles to catch it for a few seconds, eventually clasping it securely in his too big, too clumsy hands. 

The boy laughs at his fumbling, stands with his hip popped, arms across his chest. “I’m no thief. If anything, I’m a hero.” 

“How’s that?” Harry asks and inches closer to the boy, arms crossing to match the boy’s stance and the size difference between them is almost comical. The boy puffs out his chest a little, obviously trying to appear bigger than Harry and it’s a worthless effort. If his goal is to look intimidating, then he fails miserably. All the move does is solidify the image of his fragility in Harrys mind. It was also the most adorable thing Harry has probably ever seen and it causes a chuckle to slip. The boy’s eyes narrow.

“Because! I didn’t have to bring it back. I could’ve easily kept it to myself. Bought all the snacks I wanted with your meal card. Could have even snuck into the Alpha dorms if I wanted.” The boy shrugs.

“I don’t live in the Alpha dorms.”

“So? Your ID will still open the front door. Who said I’d be sneaking in there to see you?”

Harry feels his face go blood red. Embarrassed for even thinking that’s where the boy was going with that comment and… jealous? Jealous because that’s not where he took it? The thought of this Omega he doesn’t even know sneaking into the Alpha dorms for an Alpha that isn’t him is making him jealous? Apparently so because his jaw tightens without his consent, a rumble locked and loaded in his chest that he fights hard to swallow.

“I don’t think returning something makes you a hero if you’re the one who stole it in the first place,” Niall speaks up and Harry is grateful for it, not trusting his voice to come out at a normal, non-Alpha register, his tone effected by the sudden burst of testosterone rushing through his body caused by the jealousy he feels.

The boy rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, sass dripping off him like syrup and Harry really needs to stop letting this boy affect him so much with simple personality traits.

“I didn’t steal it.”

“The evidence isn’t exactly in your favor, mate.” Niall gestures to the lanyard in Harrys hands. The boy shrugs.

“It must’ve gotten stuck to me when I got tackled in the hallway.”

That’s not the first time today the boy has gotten the order of events of their meeting wrong, and it’s that comment that breaks Harry and his inner Alpha apart, the two bickering mindlessly about what other Alpha has this Omega wanting to break into the A Dormitory. 

“You were the one that knocked me to the ground, not the other way around.” He tells the boy.

The boy smiles the same devious smile he had when he approached Harrys truck.

“Details.”

The boy turns back to Niall. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what the evidence has to say. Fact is that I didn’t steal it.”

“Then how’d you end up with it?” Zayn asks and the boy in front of them sighs like he’s exhausted.

“The only possible explanation is that it somehow got stuck to me when your big Alpha butt knocked me down.” he eyes Harry and Harry scoffs, opening his mouth to correct the boy a second time but the boy is already talking again.

“Either that or you planted it on me.” The Omega says, matter of fact and Harry can’t help the way his face contorts like he’s questioning the boy’s sanity.

“What?” Harry laughs, eyes questioning. “How on earth would me planting my lanyard on you benefit me in any way?”

The Omega shakes his head. “Depends on how desperate you were to see me again. And I pegged you different. Silly me for thinking an Alpha was actually nice to me just to be nice, not for the benefit of getting in my pants.”

The last part has some venom to it and Harry tries hard to mask the hurt look trying to spread across his face, tries to stamp down the guilt his inner Alpha is over cumbered by because Harry tries to do all he can to keep his human part and his Alpha part separate from each other, but he can’t always help the thoughts his inner Alpha conjures up. And it’s only been a few hours since they literally ran into one another, but his inner Alpha has really been thinking about this Omega.

Harry can tell that the accusation is still apart of whatever game the two are playing, but the ending to that statement was a little too real for him. Their playful back and forth breaching into something less humorous and more horrifying.

Harry doesn’t dwell on it. Decides for the sake of the Omega to ignore that half of his comeback. He keeps the smile on his face, with the touch of a smirk just beneath it. “And how desperate was I, exactly?”

It’s clearly a challenge, and the boy doesn’t hesitate to accept. He stiffens his back, eyes the group intensely for a moment before he starts.

“You, an unmated Alpha, meets me, an unmated _rare male Omega_. You just run into me by chance today in the hall and what are the odds of that, huh? You probably aren’t looking for a mate, given how young you are, but c’mon? When are you ever going to meet another male Omega? Especially one that’s unmated. So, you, thinking you’re sneaky, plant your ID on me in the hopes that me, being the good-natured person that I seem to be, will seek you out in hopes to return your junk, in term giving you the opportunity to see me again. And then what? I don’t know. I guess it depends on the sort of Alpha you are. You also risk the chance that I won’t return your lanyard. What then?” The boy shrugs. “I guess you thought the risk was worth it because about two minutes after you attacked me I found that,” he points to Harrys lanyard, “stuck on my jacket sleeve.”

Several moments pass in silence, the boy standing with his hip cocked, eyebrows raised, ready and waiting for Harry’s comeback. Harry can only stand in shock, his face frozen with a mix between confusion and utter fascination. The gap between them was less than three feet and Harry doesn’t remember the boy coming closer. He also doesn’t remember stepping away from his best mates but apparently he had, seeing as there was now a sizable gap between him and his friends.

Harry knows this is a game. From the second the boy walked up to his truck with his ID card, Harry has known, but his accusation is so baffling and outlandish, even for one that is completely made up.

It’s the total opposite of Harry. If this boy knew Harry at all, he would see that Harry is no evil genius. No master mind capable of pulling an elaborate plan out of his arse that quickly. He can barely get his hand up fast enough to answer a question in class, can barely walk without falling over his two giant feet. How he’s managed this long on the football team without breaking a leg, he will never know. The chances of Harry slipping his lanyard from his back pocket to catch it on the smaller boy without anyone seeing are slim, if not none.

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about this, haven’t you?” Harry questions with a smirk, tamping down the urge to step closer to the Omega in front of him. The weird pull trying to tug him forward, getting stronger every second the pairs eyes stay locked.

“Well, you weren’t exactly easy to find.” He says with attitude and Harry nods methodically.

“There’s one problem with your theory,” Harry says, giving into his impulse to step forward and it’s like his chest finally relaxes.

He closes in on the boy, gets so close that he could easily reach out and touch if he wanted to, which he does, but he keeps his arms crossed instead.

“Really?” the boy sasses and Harry hums in response. “What exactly did I get wrong?”

Harry’s smirk deepens.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, leaning down so his face is level with the smaller boys, one large hand coming up to grip the boy by the shoulder. Its alarming how little Harry would have to move to align their lips. It’s even more alarming the way the boy’s body softens the seconds they’re in contract, Harry’s touching making the muscles in his body go lax. Harry sighs right into the boy’s face before saying, “You aren’t that pretty.”

And yeah it’s a lie. Probably the biggest lie Harry has ever told in his entire life. A massive, bold faced lie. But it accomplishes exactly what Harry wanted it to. It throws the boy off. Catches him by surprise. His eyes go wide, and he’s offended by the words enough that before he has the chance to pull away, Harry is sliding his hand from the boy’s shoulder to his neck, into the color of his button up shirt. The boy shivers when their skin meets, and Harry has to ignore it or else his plan won’t work. His fingers close around the fresh length of bright yellow fabric that hangs around the Omega’s neck and in a quick motion, Harry slips the lanyard over the boy’s head, flicking it so the cards land in the open palm of his hand, all the information on them free for his emerald eyes to read.

The boy gasps out the second he realizes what Harry now has in his grasp. His hand flies out to recover his property, stolen by the much larger Alpha in front of him, but Harrys hand catches his wrist in the air, grip tight and sturdy. They’re warm is the thing. And the pressure of Harrys grip around his delicate wrists drains him of all his intent to retrieve his things. His muscles go slack in Harry’s hold, helpless as Harry skims the cards, takes in all his information.

Harry smiles. Matches the same devious grin the boy had on his face when he had first approached the truck. He adjusts so the boy’s student ID card is on top of the stack and examines the yellow, laminated card, eyes drawn to the picture in the top left corner. A slightly crocked, badly lit photo of the boy he’s holding on to. Harry mentally scoffs. At this point, he would volunteer to do the pictures for the ID’s free of charge if the school was going to insist on producing such bad quality headshots. But even though the picture is far from professional, Harry can’t deny that the photo is breathtaking. Feather soft fringe, big cheeky smile. The blue of his eyes all but covered by the squint caused by his toothy grin. Beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. But even still, the photo doesn’t do the boy justice.

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry starts, matching the tone the boy had used to recite his information earlier. “Omega. Freshman. Student ID Number O1343614. Registered Mate?”

His eyes flash up to the boys, to Louis’ face and Louis wears a sheet of anger, a fresh sheen of pink highlighting his cheeks as Harry recites the word, “none.” He tries to yank his arm free from Harrys grasp but it doesn’t even budge an inch. He squares his feet, ready to launch himself at this Alpha keeping his things prisoner, but suddenly, Harry is releasing his wrist to offer up the lanyard with an outstretched hand. Louis snatches it quickly before Harry can change his mind, pulling it back over his head with spite clear on his face.

“Now, we’re even,” Harry tells him, taking a few difficult steps back and Louis huffs.

“No, we aren’t! Because of your cheeky little charade my class has already started. Do you honestly think I’m going to walk into my class on the first day once the teacher has already started their lecture? I think not.”

Harry crosses his arms, amusement bouncing off his features. He’s lost. The little, sassy, ferocious Omega lost whatever game he had been trying to play and now, in an effort not to be bested, he’s trying to start another. “First of all, yes, we are even. I’ve now missed the start of my class too. And so, have they,” he gestures to Niall and Zayn. “So, if anything, you still owe us. And second, you started this game. I was just trying to finish it.”

Louis makes a face.

“If you make a habit of finishing all your games like this, I won’t want to play with you anymore.” He crosses his arms.

“You mean them finishing with someone other than you winning?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Are you hungry?” Harry asks randomly and Louis squishes his face up at him.

“Um. What?”

“I asked if you were hungry.”

“I heard you.”

“And?”

“I don’t see why that matters?”

“It’s just that my sister gets like this too,” Harry waves his hand, gesturing to Louis, “But only when she’s hungry.”

Louis could almost laugh at the way Harry opened himself up like that. It was almost a perfect invitation for Louis to retaliate, come up with some offended remark about how he is perfect. Always on his best behavior, even when he’s hungry. Could threaten Harry until his voice gave out. Threaten that Harry better watch his mouth, Alpha or not. Louis may not be able to hurt him physically, but he could sure hurt him emotionally and psychologically. And he starts to open his mouth, comeback locked and loaded, but Harry is already speaking.

“And if buying you food is what I have to do to end this little game and get us acting like friends, then I’ll do it.”

For some reason, that shuts Louis up. Pulls his retaliation right out of his mouth. And it’s probably because he is, in fact, hungry. He’s been too afraid of going into the lunchroom alone, although he’d never admit it. Eating at a lunch table by himself doesn’t sound like a good way to celebrate his first day of university. Neither does sitting at a lunch table that’s swarmed with ogling Alphas.

“Well, I mean, if you’re offering.”

“I am.” Harry smiles. Louis smiles back. “I’ll have to change the tire first. It’ll take around an hour, but seeing as we’ve all missed the start of our classes, it seems we have the time if you’re willing to wait?” Harry raises his eyebrows in question, watching Louis pretend to mull it over in his mind, arms crossed like he’s really thinking about it.

“I’m willing,” he says after a few beats, and Harry is elated when his smile is met with one in return.

It took about as long as Harry had figured it would. And just like he had suspected, almost none of the process of getting the tire changed went right. It was worth it though, having the most delicious looking Omega he’s ever seen ogling him from a few feet away. Made him work harder, strain himself a little more just to see how the Omega would react. It gave Louis a chance to talk to Niall and Zayn too, the three of them picking up a conversation easily, their talk effortlessly turning playful and friendly.

Once the old tire is removed and the new one is in its rightful place, Harry moves to open the driver’s side door and pops the seat forward so Louis has room to climb into the back row. Harry absolutely does not stare at his arse as he squeezes his body through the tight space between the door frame and Harry’s front seat. Niall and Zayn climb in on the other side, Niall accompanying Louis in the back seat. Harry adjusts his rear-view mirror so he can see Louis’ face from the driver’s seat. If anyone notices, they don’t make it known and Harry shifts the truck into reverse to back out of the parking spot.

It was as simple as that. One conversation full of playful banter and a trip to taco bell later and the four of them have never been apart. Family. The only word for it is family. Some Alpha’s like to call it something else, but Harry isn’t sure he’d ready to define it as that just yet. There’s still a lot of room to work with. None of them started the journey from that same starting off point, god only knows how they’ll all finish.

There are only two thing Harry has always known for certain, one is that he loves those boys with every fiber of who he is and while everything else might change, that never will.

The other, is that he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t plant his lanyard on Louis that day in the hallway.


End file.
